


Hunting Erebor

by LadyLaran



Series: The Valar's Hunters [1]
Category: Supernatural, The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Battle of Five Armies Fix-It, Crossover Pairings, M/M, NSFW
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-02-15
Updated: 2018-03-23
Packaged: 2018-05-20 21:53:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 24,032
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6026578
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyLaran/pseuds/LadyLaran
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An accident during a hunt has serious consequences for the Winchester brothers and two angels, sending them to a world that they'd only heard of in books and movies.  The Valar have a mission for them, and it's one that will have an effect on our intrepid warriors as well as Arda itself!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Two Hunters, Two Angels, and a Group of Witches Walk Into a Trap

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Tisha_Wyman](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tisha_Wyman/gifts).



> Author’s Note – This idea came about when Mom and I got into the habit of discussing our favorite fandoms. She keeps to a certain few while I tend to bounce all over the place, and this plot wombat was born during the discussion. She encouraged me to write this and has been patient with me due to the fact I have so many irons in the fire story wise. So this is for her!
> 
> In my mind, angels can use their grace kind of like magic. 
> 
> Since I have so many projects on my hands as well as Hobbit Big Bang, do NOT expect fast updates for this. I will do the best I can, but I do not abandon my stories so please be patient with me. Thank you and happy reading.
> 
> Warnings – AU for both Supernatural and “The Hobbit.” This is a Fix-It! 
> 
> Disclaimer – I don’t own “Supernatural” or “the Hobbit.” I don’t make money from this story either.

“How the hell do we end up like this all the time?”

Sam groaned, hanging on tighter to his brother’s foot. This would be the situation where the pair of them were dangling from a ledge of a tall building, hoping like hell the two angels that were supposed to be helping with this case would actually bail them out before he dropped his brother.

“No idea; stop wiggling,” he growled in response to Dean’s question, trying to hang on.

“This is the absolute last time I accept a case offered by Rufus,” Dean muttered, struggling to stay still while mentally screaming for Castiel or Gabriel to get their fluffy feathered asses out here to keep him from becoming a puddle of goo when he landed on the ground that seemed way too far down.

“No shit,” the younger brother groaned, feeling his fingers aching as he tried to keep his own balance on the ledge while holding onto his older sibling. “No more cheeseburgers or pie after this, Dean.”

“Screw you, bitch,” he managed, then yelped when a flash of light surrounded them and the two brothers found themselves on a smooth tiled floor. “Dude, what the hell?”

“Sorry about that guys,” Gabriel commented. “We got held up by some odd magical traps; it took some time to get out since we’d never seen anything like them before. You two hurt?”

“Just muscle strain,” Sam answered, shaking his hands to get feeling back into the cramping digits. “Otherwise, we’re all right.”

“Ok, so someone explain how one damned pipe can draw so much interest by witches and other weird freaks,” Dean demanded after reassuring himself that he was definitely on solid ground.

“All I know is that it’s Tolkien’s pipe,” the archangel replied.

“Whoa…ok, hold up. Isn’t that the dude who wrote the stories about the hobbits and stuff?”

“That would be the one,” Sam answered. “I don’t understand why Rufus would think the pipe has some sort of power, but it seems someone else believed it too when they set up this exhibit. There’s traps everywhere. That last trap we hit was a doozy.”

“We did manage to get close enough to sense it,” Castiel commented, running a hand through his hair. “There is a lot of power coming from the artifact so this is not a wild turkey chase.”

“Goose chase, little brother,” the archangel corrected, shaking his head. 

“It doesn’t make sense to me because this is the pipe of a writer,” Dean asked, still confused. “I mean, he created awesome stories and languages but there’s been no sign of magic around him as far as we can tell. So why does this thing have so much power?”

“I wish I knew,” Gabriel said, golden eyes holding a look of frustration and anger. “It’s rare when traps can trip me up, and Castiel is no slouch with them either. Whoever set the pipe here to be displayed was absolutely determined to keep people who know it has power away from it.”

“Hopefully, the ones we’re trying to beat won’t get there before we do,” the younger Winchester commented. “How far are we from the room?”

“Two chambers over,” the soldier answered. “The others are about equidistant to it so I suggest moving as swiftly as we can.”

The short haired male rose to his feet, frowning for a long moment as he thought about what their next steps should be.

“Well, trying to trick the traps by going above and below the rooms didn’t work,” Dean said. “I suggest we take the straightforward approach. Maybe if the magic senses we’re not here to hurt anything, it’ll let us through easier.”

“You’re hoping to Harry Potter it, aren’t you?”

“Well, the damned mirror let him have it since he didn’t want to use it so I figure, it’s worth a try,” the older human answered his brother, catching the reference to the first Rowling novel. 

“Nothing else is working so let’s give it a shot,” Sam said, unable to argue with his sibling.

The four of them headed to the door, and Dean reached for the knob while focusing on the intent to protect and not use the pipe. All of them were expecting another trap to go off, but it seemed that the odd suggestion was working. Once the door opened, both hunters and angels hurried towards the room where the item was being stored. One more door unlocked itself beneath the green eyed hunter’s touch, and all of them emerged into the circular shaped room.

“Ok, so now what,” Dean asked, walking around the sealed Plexiglas container that held the wooden item the writer had used so often before his death.

“Keep it from being taken,” Sam commented, checking his weapons. His attention was diverted when there was a loud slamming sound, and the other door opened.

Five others came in, hair smoking and clothing singed, and all of them looked furious and intent on gaining what they’d come there for. The one female in the group gave a low growl when she realized they hadn’t gotten into the room first.

“It’s ours,” she snarled, hands curling into fists at her side.

“Nope, Smokey, it’s staying where it belongs,” Dean quipped. “Don’t know why a pipe would be of interest to freaks like you, but we won’t let it fall into the wrong hands.”

That comment started a fight that the humans would remember for quite a long while. Castiel and Gabriel were quick, holding off the spells that were being thrown at them, and both humans went after the group in hopes of keeping the magic from being used.

The fight went on for a while, three of the witches going down thanks to Dean and Sam moving quickly and working together. The fourth one fell after Castiel pushed a spell back towards him, and the witch caught fire.

It was an odd shattering sound that filled the room next that drew all eyes to the middle of the room. The remaining witch, who had landed on the case hard enough to shatter it, was screaming in fury and agony. It was obvious she was dying, but her attention was focused on the pipe that was on the floor in front of her.

Gabriel launched a counter attack when she threw one at Dean, who had run towards the item to try to keep it from her reach.

What happened next was unexpected as an explosion filled the room when the pipe shattered under the force of Gabriel’s power and her magical attack combining, and the eyes of both the angels and humans were filled with light and their skin felt as if it were searing from the sheer heat of the explosion.

Pain, confusion, dread – those were the emotions that filled the hearts of the hunters and angels as the light and sound didn’t seem to die away. Then a smoky sounding voice filled their ears, and it was one that Sam vaguely recognized from old recordings.

“Be at peace, great defenders,” it began. “All will be explained soon enough. Your time in this universe is over now, and your roles in the new universe shall be made clear to you. My mission as the guardian between the world of my birth and the world I recorded is now ended. May the Valar watch and protect you.”

The voice disappeared, as did the light and noise. The sudden shock of silence brought all of them to a form of alertness.

Gabriel was the first to raise himself to his knees, quickly realizing that he and the others were nude. He ignored that for a moment, golden eyes staring at the beautiful hall he and his friends were in. Elaborate tapestries hung over white stone that looked almost iridescent in the warm light that filled the room.

“Ok, where are we and why are we naked?”

“I have no idea, Deano,” the archangel answered in a quiet voice. 

The area gave off a power feeling of peace and power, but it was difficult to tell for certain what kind of power because his grace was not responding as it should. He turned to realize that Castiel must be feeling the same considering his hand was pressed against his chest with a strange expression on his face. 

“Be at peace, my sons,” a gentle voice called towards them. “You are in the Halls of Manwë, and no harm shall come to you here.”

“I know that name,” Sam murmured from his position beside Dean. “I can’t put my finger on it, but I recognize that name from somewhere.”

A woman emerged from a small alcove, and all four of them could sense the power encased in the delicate form.

“I am Vairë, the Weaver who records the passage of time and the deeds of those who dwell within Arda,” she began. “You were brought here when the item we blessed was destroyed. No longer is our world in danger by those of your world so we owe you our thanks for ensuring Arda is no longer at risk.”

“Hold on, hold on,” the younger brother stated, panic and awe on his face. “You mean to tell me we’re in the world that Tolkien created?”

“Not created, my son, but recorded. In your world, one unique individual is chosen by fate to become the guardian of the world he or she has Insight into and will record what they see. Tolkien recorded what he saw of this world and was blessed by us. Each guardian protects the small portal that he or she can see through. The item that ends up being a focus for thought and creativity becomes a key into the world they protect and record. For dearest John, it was his pipe. 

“For those who wanted access to Arda for the power that could be had, the pipe would have enabled them to enter here and become another threat to the people we protect,” the Weaver told them. “When it was destroyed, the magical whiplash destroyed your bodies but Ilúvatar was able to carry your spirits through the portal before it closed.”

“We’re dead in our world,” Dean asked, rocked by the words the woman had spoken.

“I am afraid so, but our father decided to reward your pure intentions by carrying your souls here so that you may continue to live,” Vairë answered. 

“We don’t have the knowledge or skills to live here,” Sam said quietly. “I doubt you have use for hunters or angels here.”

“The angels are the ones who I shall address first,” the woman answered, eyes turning towards the two heavenly beings. “The power of your creator does not extend to this universe so the power within your souls have been altered to fit within this universe. No longer are you angels but shall be considered Istari.”

“You’re wizards,” the younger Winchester said, eyes alight with childish glee for a moment.

Vairë leaned forward, pressing kisses to the foreheads of each new Istar. Castiel and Gabriel both relaxed under the touch, feeling calm by Her presence.

“Do not mourn for your paths will lead you in the direction of honor, service, loyalty, and companionship,” she told them. “What you have lost, you will find anew but in forms that you may not have expected.”

Before anyone could speak, a slender man with pale white hair and almost violet eyes entered the hall where they were kneeling. Vairë gave Him a smile and nod, and He greeted Her by taking Her hand and giving it a light squeeze before turning to the golden eyed angel.

“In your old universe, your father used you to walk into dreams and deliver messages,” He told the smaller built male. 

“I was his messenger,” Gabriel answered, voice faltering a tad.

“I am Irmo, the master of dreams and visions,” the Vala informed him. “I would have you as my representative on Arda. The Istari who have remained true to our calling are in need of further support. Do you accept this, dream walker?”

Knowing he had no way back and this was now his home, the former angel knew he needed some form of a purpose and his instincts were telling him this was the best that he could be given in this world.

“I accept it,” he told the Vala, blinking when a slender hand was pressed to his forehead.

Sam, Dean, and Castiel tried to get up to help their friend when a scream was heard and a bright light enveloped him. Within seconds, the light receded and Gabriel was clad in a green tunic and pants, belted with a leather belt with green embossing on it. The outer robe was a darker shade of green and in his hand, he held a staff of wood taken from a mallorn tree. The top of it was wild in a way, almost like a tangled twist of branches, and within those branches was a green orb that looked like it was a mix of jade and emerald.

“I welcome you, Eruadan the Green, to your new path,” Irmo said to him. “Protect Arda as best as you can from all evil.”

The newly christened Eruadan rose, taking a step behind the other three and bowing to the Vala he was now bound to. 

Irmo smiled, then stepped to the side, and both He and Vairë bowed as a beautiful woman entered the chamber. Her silver hair flowed freely to her knees and was decorated by beaded braids that showed amongst the thick tresses. Her eyes were full of power and radiated light, and they could tell they were of a rich sapphire color.

The woman stopped in front of Castiel, blue eyes looking into blue, and the male seemed to relax by whatever it was he saw in the richly colored eyes.

“I am Varda Elentári, wife of Manwë and Queen of the Valar,” She said to Dean’s dearest friend. “You were a warrior in your old world, and now I have a use for you that will better suit your heart. You, like Ilúvatar’s first children, find beauty in light and goodness. I would ask that you become my chosen and aid in the fight against Melkor’s evil. Will you be my light in the darkness covering the world?”

“I will,” Castiel whispered, eyes closing when the queen leaned in to press a kiss to his forehead.

A muted cry of pain was heard from the new Istar as his grace, like his brother’s, shifted into a different form of power. When the light receded, the former angel was clad in a very pale blue tunic and pants, a leather belt around his waist buckled with a silver clasp, and a robe that was pale blue with silver embroidery upon the hems. In his hand was a silver staff that held a beautiful crystal that shone with light.

“Then rise, Urúvion the Silver,” she said, smiling as Her Istar opened his eyes to reveal silver flecks with the dark blue depths.

Urúvion stood, taking a step back to stand alongside of his brother and fellow Istar. Eruadan gave him a smile, and then both of them waited.

Varda moved to stand before the two humans, and it was all Dean could do not to show how impressed he was with the power and beauty of the woman. Truth was, he wasn’t happy by all of this. This place wasn’t home, and how could these people think that it was okay just leaving his world in the lurch?

Gentle fingers caressed his cheek, making him flinch while staring Her in the eyes.

“I see your thoughts and understand your anger, young one,” She told him. “You are not leaving your world in perl. In truth, the fact you are not there actually allows for the balance to reset itself.”

“What do you mean?”

“You and your brother were looking for a way to stop one of the embodiments of evil, correct,” She asked, not breaking the gaze they were sharing.

“Yeah, Lucifer got popped out of the box,” Dean said, watching as the Valië nodded.

“From what I understood from the guardian’s connection to your world, you and your brother were the two key figures in regards to that battle,” Varda said. “With you two here in Arda and unable to return, the battle cannot occur.”

“She’s right, Dean,” Eruadan told his friend. “Sam is the only survivor of the kids Azazel prepared to be Lucifer’s vessel. None of the other vessels he could use will be strong enough to fight in. This has put a complete halt to the Apocalypse right now. Michael will just have to work on getting him back into the box since the grand showdown can’t happen. The Apocalypse can never be restarted because Lilith was the final seal, and she can’t be returned to life.”

Dean snuck a look to Sam, who nodded. It was the only silver lining in this whole thing, but it meant leaving behind people they loved. Bobby, Ellen, and Jo were the only family members they had, and it hurt to know they had to leave them behind.

“It’s the only good thing about this,” the older brother grumbled, making the queen smile.

“Well, you have the heart and soul of an adventurer and I can alleviate your worries about one thing,” Varda said. “You and your brother will not lose that blood tie even as your body is changed to better adapt to the work ahead of you.”

“That’s good ‘cause we’re losing too much,” Dean told Her.

“I know and if I could, I would bring your family here to you but that portal is now closed,” the woman quietly replied. “I can safely tell you that you two will have a chance for one of the truest forms of happiness Ilúvatar can grant.”

“What’s the catch?”

Varda gave a laugh that was like liquid star shine, and Sam could see why the elves adored the woman so much. 

“You both are familiar with the tales our guardian recorded?”

“You mean the events of ‘the Hobbit’ and ‘Lord of the Rings?’ What about them,” the younger brother asked.

“I do,” She replied. “Those events were what Vairë could see coming for Arda, and She had John record it. If the events unfold as he recorded, then a great many lives will be lost and some of those are needed,” the queen said quietly.

“So we have to help beat the dragon and later that guy with the fetish for towers and rings,” Dean asked, making his brother face-palm.

“Precisely,” the Valië said. “After we are finished here, my husband will have His eagles escort all of you to Imladris for training. You and your brother, while excellent warriors, have a lot to learn before it is time to work towards regaining Erebor.”

The two brothers stared at each other for several long moments before Sam gave a small nod, and Dean heaved a deep sigh before answering the queen.

“All right, we’ll do what we can to help,” he said to Her. “I’m not so sure about the name changing thing that’s going on though.”

“I’ll be giving you the elvish translations of your names,” Varda promised. “From what I understand from the guardian before his task had finished, I know your names mean ‘valley’ and ‘name of god’ and I will ensure you have the same names but in the language of the people you will work with.”

“Are we to remain men here or something else,” Sam asked, chewing on his lip for a moment.

“You will become Dúnedain,” the beautiful Valië told him.

“Uh, Sammy, want to refresh my memory,” Dean asked, looking to his brother. The term was familiar, but he was drawing a blank on what it meant.

“The Dúnedain are also known as the Rangers of the North, Aragorn’s people, as well as the Dúnedain of Gondor, who intermarried with the people of that country,” the younger answered. “Most have long lives because they share blood with the elves. Aragorn lived to about 210 years of age before he died.“

“You both shall be Dúnedain of Arnor, a part of the Rangers of the North,” Varda informed them. “In fact, we have arranged it so you will be cousins to Aragorn through the older sister of his mother, Gilraen.”

Both of them looked rather speechless at her announcement, and She met Dean’s eyes.

“Are you ready?”

“Not really but I know it has to be done,” he said, making Her laugh before leaning into press a kiss to his forehead.

The elder Winchester gave a deep cry of pain as the magic poured through his body, changing him from human to Dúnadan. As the physical change occurred, the knowledge of several languages, culture, history, and geography were given to him so that he would be able to survive in the new world.

Dean was breathing hard when the change was finished, realizing his senses had become quite a bit more sensitive than they had been. He’d been dressed in a simple tunic, pants, and boots, and it took a moment for him to pull himself together.

“Welcome, Imrathon,” Manwë’s wife greeted, gently brushing Her hand over his head before moving to Sam.

She placed a kiss on his forehead, like She had for his brother, and the light surrounding him nearly blinded the others. Sam emitted a cry as well and once it had receded, he was dressed similarly to his brother.

“Welcome to you, Eruestan,” Varda smiled, gesturing for the two Dúnedain to rise. “Now, my husband’s eagles will take you to Imladris. From there, Eruadan and Urúvion will go with Olórin and learn from him before starting their wandering if they wish to do so. You two will need to learn the ways of combat of this world before you start off on the missions that will need you both to correct.”

The Queen of the Valar led them to a wide balcony where four large eagles were waiting. The largest one bowed its head to Her, and She gently stroked its beak for a moment.

“To Imladris, dear ones, and please be safe,” She spoke to the eagles before disappearing.

“Of course, it had to be flying,” Imrathon grumbled, climbing on and hoping this wouldn’t be a long flight. New world or not, flying still seriously sucked.


	2. Convincing the Hobbit

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author’s Note – Well, here’s the next chapter. I was pleasantly surprised by the response to this; I wasn’t sure if people would like this kind of crossover. My mom doesn’t count because she enjoys pretty much anything with Supernatural in it lol. 
> 
> We have a bit of a time skip here; the group from Supernatural have been in Arda about twenty years. Since Sam and Dean are now Dúnedain, they will have the same aging as Aragorn does. Our favorite Ranger lived until he was 210 so I can certainly get away with doing this!
> 
> Disclaimer – I do not own “the Hobbit” or “Supernatural,” and I don’t make money from this story either.

Imrathon and Eruestan were fairly quiet as they approached the borders of the Shire. They had just finished helping a dwarven caravan reach the Blue Mountains when they’d felt a nudge from Vairë to head to the home of the hobbits. Both suspected it the time for the quest for Erebor was approaching but even if they were a bit off on when it was going to happen, they didn’t mind spending time in the Shire.

Since coming to Arda nearly two decades ago, the brothers had felt a deeper kinship with the non-human occupants of this world and often spent time helping out when most of the Men of this world would turn the supplicants for aid away. They’d gotten to know certain dwarven clans fairly well, were respected by the elves, and had even gained a rapport with the reclusive hobbits. Eruestan had been adamant about it, reminding his brother of the books and had shared that having such a good reputation with those races would be crucial in the future. Imrathon didn’t mind too much since he respected the cranky exterior and loyalty the dwarrow showed each other and their rare friends, and he had a soft spot for the hobbits. Eruestan often teased his brother for being half hobbit due to his elder sibling’s love for food, which hadn’t disappeared since leaving Earth.

Living in Arda hadn’t been easy at the start for Imrathon and Eruestan. Both Urúvion and Eruadan had flourished rather quickly, finding a purpose once Gandalf had helped them to adjust, and now the pair were wandering around Arda. It was good to see they were happy, and the two former angels had become a bonded pair several years after arriving in this world.

For Imrathon and Eruestan, their reason for fighting through the adjustment period had been each other at the start before meeting their young cousin for the first time. Estel, as the tiny boy had been named by his elvish caretaker, had been the brothers’ source of light and joy. Anytime the brothers were in Imladris, the youngling was often found at their sides and they made sure to make time for their future chieftain.

Estel was the source of their sanity, and the two Dúnedain adored him for it. They pushed themselves in hopes of helping in certain future events so that their cousin’s future would not be as dark as it had been in the books and movies that had been so popular in their old world. The boy and a few others that the brothers knew they would meet were the motivation needed to push themselves to master as much as they could.

“How far ahead of Gandalf will we be,” Imrathon asked the other in English. They used their old language for privacy since only two others knew of it, and it was also a comfort having something from their old home.

“A few hours,” Eruestan told his older brother. “With luck, we’ll be able to talk to Bilbo about what’s going on and see if we can help him get ready before the Company arrives.”

“I don’t think anything will help prepare him for all of this,” the elder one shared, knowing the stories as well as his brother now since they often discussed them each night to try to keep the memory of what would happen secure in their minds.

“Probably not but at least he won’t be freaking out when the dwarves show up,” the younger one commented. “We can make sure he’s got what he needs to survive the journey. The problem will be convincing Gandalf and Thorin Oakenshield of why we need to tag along.”

“Thorin won’t be a problem if we toss Dis’s name into the conversation a few times along with his nephew’s names,” Imrathon said with a snicker. “That is one tough dwarrowdam.”

“No kidding,” his brother answered. “Knowing what we know of her and her relationship to the men of her family, reminding Thorin that extra hands to help protect his nephews will be a good thing,” he replied.

Both had met the formidable princess several years ago when they had helped fight off orcs that had attacked the party she’d been with, and the trio had hit it off rather well. Through her, they had met two more dwarves who would later become members of Thorin Oakenshield’s famous company. Dropping her name into the conversation with the future king of Erebor would help seal their place in the company.

Gandalf would be a headache that would take a bit of time to work with. Imrathon was all for leaving his curiosity unappeased, but he also knew just how stubborn the Istar could be. For Eruadan to call him stubborn meant that the term was undoubtedly the wrong word to use in regards to the wizard.

“As for Gandalf, I guess we can tell him to talk to Vairë, Irmo, or Varda about it and hope he’ll leave it alone afterwards,” Eruestan offered, making his brother snort and shake his head.

“We’re talking about someone Eruadan calls stubborn; we both know how hard headed he can be so it means something for him to use that word,” the elder brother commented. “No, we’ll roll with it and see how things go. As far as Bilbo is concerned, I think we could do one of two things: tell him we heard rumors of this quest and came to help or we can tell him that Irmo gave us a vision of what this quest is and the things that can go wrong.”

“The idea of Irmo giving us a vision might better explain how we know what we know,” Eruestan said quietly. “The problem is making sure we don’t give up too much information, especially to a certain wizard, but it might be enough to convince our little friend to go along with the journey.”

The brothers swapped back to Westron when they passed through the borders, noticing the signs of their kin who patrolled the boundaries of the peaceful country of the Shire. They had patrolled here quite a few times, getting to know certain hobbits and befriending a specific few families as well in order to help with the events that would need changing. Thanks to them, the Fell Winter had not gone as badly as it had in the books.

“Welcome, masters,” a hobbit called out.

Imrathon’s sharp green eyes caught sight of the equipment that the hobbit bore and politely responded back, reining his horse to a stop.

“Good morning, Master Bounder,” he greeted respectfully. “How goes the day?”

“Fairly well, sir, and you?”

“Pleased to say the same,” Eruestan said with a warm smile. “We are visiting a friend for a few days.”

The bounder smiled back, giving a nod as he did so. If there was one thing Imrathon loved about these people was the informality that mingled with the polite aspect of their society. Dwarves, elves, and men could be so rigid in formality in their behaviors, but the hobbits were delightful in their contradictions. To be honest, it made both rangers feel relaxed whenever their paths brought them into the Shire.

“Enjoy your visit, sirs,” the bounder said, giving them a wave. “My missus will have my boys take your horses out to graze in our pastures if you wish. Just watch out; it’s baking day, and she’ll be trying to feed you both up again.”

“Thank you, Master Grubb,” Imrathon said with a soft chuckle.

As they headed on to the Grubb’s farm to hand off their horses, Eruestan gave a low groan. He remembered the last time they’d come to the Shire and met Mrs. Violet Grubb on a baking day. They’d put away so much food they’d almost been sick, even Imrathon who had an appetite large enough to rival a hobbit’s most days.

“Good thing we’re on a schedule,” his brother commented. “Otherwise, Mrs. Grubb might try to fatten us up again.”

“I was thinking the same thing,” the taller brother admitted, then laughed as they reached the small farm and found Mrs. Grubb hanging up her laundry.

“Well, good morning to you! I’m happy to see two of my favorite rangers today,” the hobbit matron called out.

“Good morning, Mrs. Grubb,” Imrathon called out as he dismounted. “We saw your husband on his rounds when we came in. I was hoping we could board our horses here once again?”

“Of course, of course,” the woman answered, calling for her eldest son. “Do you have time for second breakfast?”

“I wish we did, but we have an appointment and don’t wish to be late,” Eruestan told her.

“Oh, I understand. Faldo, take these two horses to the pasture to graze,” she instructed her son while the two rangers removed their saddles and tack from the horses, placing them safely in the barn.

The brothers slung their bedrolls and packs over their shoulder, pressing a few coins into the woman’s hands to pay for the boarding of their mounts, and headed towards Bagshot Row in Hobbiton. They were quiet, watching the fauntlings play and occasionally greeting one of the older hobbits as they worked in their gardens.

“There he is,” Eruestan said, spotting a familiar head of copper touched blond curls sitting on a bench in a beautiful garden.

“Good morning, Bilbo,” Imrathon called.

The hobbit looked when he heard his name, smiling around the stem of his pipe before setting it aside to rise and greet the two.

“Good morning, Imrathon and Eruestan. It’s so good to see you. Please, come and sit down,” the Master of Bag End greeted, looking so very pleased to see the pair.

“As it is to see you,” the younger brother said, taking a seat on the man sized bench Bilbo’s mother had set in the gardens for her friends. Bilbo had kept the habit, enjoying the visits from the two rangers he’d met so many years ago. 

“How are you both?”

“Doing well,” the green eyed male said to his friend. “You look to be doing well yourself, Bilbo.”

“Just got back from a walking holiday, doing a bit of business for my uncle while I was out and about,” he said, taking a puff from his pipe. “What brings you to the Shire?”

“There’s something important we need to talk about, Bilbo,” the younger brother told him.

The hobbit snuffed out his pipe, rising to his feet. If it was important enough to bring his friends here, then he would give the matter all of the attention it deserved.

“Come inside, both of you. We’ll have some tea, and you can tell me what this is all about,” he ordered, heading up the steps to the large green door of his home.

Sharing a grin, the brothers rose and picked up their things, following the smaller male up the path and into the beautiful home that they’d often read about as children and adults. At his bidding, they set their packs in one of the man-sized rooms before heading into the kitchen to meet with their host.

Once Bilbo had tea and snacks ready for them, the hobbit settled himself into a chair at the kitchen table and took a sip of his warm drink. 

“Now, what’s so important to cause my friends to look as worried as you do?”

Imrathon gave a nod to his brother, knowing he’d be able to present this properly. He had the better grounding in the books Tolkien had written and would be able to convince Bilbo of the truth.

“Imrathon and I were recently given a vision from Irmo,” he began, knowing his older sibling would be memorizing the story in case someone asked him to repeat the details. “In it, we were given books written by a guardian of Arda from another world. This guardian had written what he had seen during his time looking through the portal into this world and once we had seen what will happen, Irmo charged us with ensuring certain things would not come to pass.

“The first book had to do with an upcoming quest to Erebor to reclaim it from a dragon,” the younger ranger continued. “Gandalf will come to visit a hobbit, asking for him to join him on an adventure. The hobbit refuses but is inundated with a party of thirteen dwarrow. During their time in his smial, he agrees to help them in their attempt to regain their home.”

“I’m the hobbit the book in your vision spoke of, aren’t I,” the clever hobbit asked. “Why would I be needed?”

“Truth is,” Imrathon picked up. “Your family holds a place in Gandalf’s heart, and you help him in dark times. You see things differently because you are a hobbit and don’t place as much value in gold and gems. You are brave and kind, Bilbo, and the company needs that – especially now.”

“Why now?”

“When Erebor fell, the dwarrow of Erebor wandered for decades to find a place to settle,” Eruestan told him. “The population is slow to recover; food is difficult to come by, and they can’t earn enough to really buy what they need. The Blue Mountains are all right, but the mines aren’t rich enough to push them from surviving to prosperity.

“They need to go home, Bilbo, but in order to do so successfully, they need you.”

The hobbit was quiet, staring down into his tea as he did so. He was troubled by what his friends had told him, and his voice was soft when he broke his own silence.

“Am I truly needed?”

“Hobbits will change the course of all events to come,” Imrathon told him, paraphrasing the opening lines of the “Fellowship of the Ring” movie he’d enjoyed years ago. “With our help, we’ll make sure the tragedy in those books don’t happen.”

Bilbo looked up, an expression of determination in his blue eyes.

“I’ll do it then,” he said to them. “Mind you, you’ll have to make sure I don’t make a mess of things because I don’t want to see anything bad happening.”

“Trust us, Bilbo,” the older ranger replied. “We’re going to do everything we can to ensure the fates of those involved do not go as dark as the books Irmo showed us.”

The three of them smiled, finishing up their tea and making plans to prepare for the next day or two. The rangers just hoped they could continue to convince others. Fortunately, Bilbo was not just rational but also family oriented in many ways. The simple truthful approach would only go so far with one emotionally damaged dwarf and a too stubborn and curious wizard.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author’s End Note – Just a reminder on the name changes: Dean – Imrathon, Sam – Eruestan, Castiel – Urúvion, and Gabriel – Eruadan. I hope everyone enjoyed this chapter; please let me know what you thought of it. ~ Laran


	3. A Merry Party Begins

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author’s Note – I’ve been pleasantly surprised by the response to this tale; I wasn’t sure if it’d take off, but it seems to have so far! I just hope I continue to please everyone. I’ve been focused on Hobbit Big Bang and am nearly done with that project (thank goodness) so I’ll be able to spend more time on the projects I have in progress. Thank you to Tisha for beta reading this and to everyone for your patience!
> 
> Disclaimer – I do not own “the Hobbit” nor do I own “Supernatural.” I really don’t make money from this story at all!

Once tea had been cleared away, Imrathon began to help Bilbo by ensuring the guest rooms were aired out while Eruestan focused on helping the hobbit pack for the journey. The two ensured Bilbo would have several changes of warm clothing, heavier blankets, pipe weed, soap, extra coins, food, as well as enough handkerchiefs to last for a while. Their friend was a bit baffled when Imrathon started laughing when his brother shared that last tidbit of information with him; when he didn’t get an explanation for the odd mirth from the Dúnedain, the hobbit simply shook his head and focused on what he needed to get taken care of before his guests arrived. He was used to the inside jokes the pair shared and knew that they’d explain if it was important.

Eruestan also spoke to Bilbo about ensuring Bag End would be there when he got back and knowing his own unfortunate relatives would try to take advantage of his absence, the hobbit penned several letters as well as his Will. He mailed a letter and a copy of his Will to his cousin, Drogo Baggins, as well as his uncle. Since his uncle was Thain, there would be no doubt that his wishes in regards to the maintenance and upkeep of Bag End were legitimate as well as his leaving his smial to Drogo should he not return in a certain amount of time or the Thain was notified of his death. He left a spare key and letter authorizing Holman and Fern Greenhand to keep the property clean, aired out, and maintained. His uncle would ensure the couple were paid for the work they did.

After that portion of the preparations were done, the trio went outside to enjoy a bit of a relaxation and Bilbo smoked his pipe while Eruestan shared a few tales of their recent journeys. The hobbit was enjoying their time outside when one of his smoke rings was blown back in his face, pulling him out of his relaxed state.

“Good morning,” Bilbo greeted, grateful to his ranger friends for warning him of the Istar’s coming. “It has been a long time since you were in the Shire last, Gandalf.”

“So you do remember me,” the wizard replied, looking pleased with that titbit of information. “I know it has been a while, and I am sorry for it. Losing your dear mother made returning too painful.”

The shuttered look on the hobbit’s face made Imrathon realize that Bilbo had needed Gandalf during that time and though everyone needed a period to heal, the Istar should have tried to make it to the peaceful country to ensure the son of his friend was doing well. He could see that his brother had come to the same realization and wondered if they would have to have a talk with the wizard about their friend’s wellbeing.

“I see,” the curly haired male responded, keeping his voice calm for the moment. “What brings you back to the Shire?”

“I am looking for someone who would be interested in going on an adventure,” Gandalf informed him, leaning against his staff.

“Would this adventure happen to include dwarves and a fire drake,” Bilbo asked, taking pleasure in the startled look that had appeared on the immortal male’s face.

“How did you know of this,” the wizard asked, confused and wary.

“That would be because of us,” Eruestan answered, looking at the wizard. “Irmo told us what could happen on this quest and demanded we join the company to ensure it succeeds in the manner that is best for Arda.”

“My brother and I shared a dream and through Irmo, Vairë revealed the foreknowledge of what will come if we are barred from joining the company. It’s something we shall do our best to keep from happening,” Imrathon said gravely, knowing the older male would want more information. “This quest affects a lot more than the dwarrow of Durin’s Folk.”

“And who might you two be,” the gray pilgrim asked the pair.

“I am Imrathon and he is Eruestan, sons of Erurainon and Saerwen,” the shorter brother replied, seeing the light of recognition enter the overly curious man’s eyes when he heard their parents’ names.

“I shall attempt to convince Thorin that the presence of two Dúnedain would be beneficial to the company,” Gandalf said. “Just be warned that Thorin does not trust outsiders easily.”

“We’re aware of it,” Eruestan told him. “However, we cannot abandon a quest that the Valar has set before us. We will follow behind if we must, but we will not leave the company to face every obstacle alone.”

“Understood,” the Istar answered. “Will you be joining us, Bilbo?”

“Since this was approved by the Valar, I couldn’t exactly say no,” the hobbit said to him. “I will be coming along and am packed already. I’ll have supper ready for when this company arrives; this will be a large group, will it not?”

“At present, the company numbers thirteen dwarrow,” Gandalf informed Bilbo.

“You’re lucky I keep a well-stocked pantry, Gandalf. Otherwise, I would not be able to feed my guests properly and that would be a sign of disrespect towards them.”

“I have learned that hobbits always keep their pantries well-stocked,” he admitted with a rueful laugh. “I will alert the others to meet here tonight. May I leave a mark on the door to guide them here?”

“You may, and I’ll make certain the lanterns are lit so the group will find their way easier to my home,” Bilbo answered, puffing on his pipe. 

Once the Istar had left the mark, the trio of friends went into the smial to begin cooking for the party. While the brothers weren’t the greatest cooks in the world, they could do a lot of the prep work as well as heavy lifting and Bilbo set them to those tasks. 

Time passed by rather swiftly, but they were ready by the time the first knock echoed throughout the corridors of Bag End. Bilbo went to answer it, blinking slightly when a burly dwarf turned to look at him.

“Dwalin, at your service,” the dwarf introduced himself, giving a small bow and watching the hobbit closely as the smaller male replied.

“Bilbo Baggins at yours,” the master of the smial answered calmly with a bow of his own. “Please come in. All I ask is that you leave your boots by the door please. Are the other members of the company far behind you?”

“Probably not too far,” Dwalin replied, following his host’s request of removing his boots as well as hanging his cloak up. 

“Good,” the hobbit replied, leading the first of the dwarves into his dining room.

The dwarf froze when he spotted the two rangers, and Bilbo was quick to make introductions so as not to have any bloodshed in his smial.

“Master Dwalin, these are Eruestan and Imrathon,” he began. “They are good friends of mine, and Gandalf does know they are here.”

“He does indeed,” the eldest brother informed the tattooed dwarf, giving a polite bow. “We’ll explain our presence here once all of the members of your company arrive.”

The bearded warrior frowned, obviously not pleased but not going to argue. If Tharkûn knew what was going on, then he’d have to explain everything to Thorin. That wouldn’t be an easy task as the king-in-exile was distrustful of strangers, even the Dúnedain.

“All right then,” he said, blinking when the hobbit opened the doors to a large dining room.

“Why don’t you take a seat and enjoy some of the snacks,” Bilbo suggested. “This way when the others arrive, we can all dine together.”

The dwarf nodded, following the hobbit’s instructions. Once he was in the dining room, the two rangers gave their friend a look of concern. The smaller male was leaning against the wall, looking rather pale.

“All right there, Bilbo,” Imrathon asked, seeing the overwhelmed look on his face.

“I think so; I didn’t think dwarves were that much bigger than hobbits,” the curly haired male replied. He didn’t get a chance to say anything else due to the knock on the door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author’s End Note – Just a reminder on the name changes: Dean – Imrathon, Sam – Eruestan, Castiel – Urúvion, and Gabriel – Eruadan. John is Erurainon in Elvish so I went with it. The mother’s name, I went with Mary in Elvish too, which is Saerwen. She’s Gilraen’s sister in this, and Gilraen is the mother of Aragorn. I hope you enjoyed this chapter and please let me know what you thought of it! See everyone next time. ~ Laran


	4. A Very Merry Party…Sort of

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author’s Note – Here’s the next installment for the story. Thank you everyone for your patience and wonderful reviews. I hope you enjoy this new chapter!
> 
> Disclaimer – I do not own “the Hobbit” nor do I own “Supernatural.” I don’t make money from this story.

Eruestan wasn’t quite sure what to expect as he watched the Company navigate the halls of Bag End while they waited for the last member of their party to arrive before dinner could be served. He and Dean had both seen the movies as well as read the books to each other quite often during their childhood, and it was strange to see how close Jackson and Tolkien had gotten in regards to the personalities of each dwarf. He smiled at Kili and Fili as they plopped onto a seat to question Bilbo in hopes of getting to know him.

The Company had been somewhat taken aback by the amount of snacks waiting for them but had not complained about waiting for the last member to arrive before dinner would be served. The hobbit had been adamant about that, and the two princes had been the ones to support that decision. Both the Dúnedain had been pleased to see that the group, including Gandalf, had obeyed their host’s wishes. The brothers had worried about Bilbo being ignored as he had in the first movie but so far, their friend had been polite but firm, showing a strength of spirit that was rather heartwarming. They would help push their hobbit friend into continuing to show that strength, knowing it would help him a tremendous amount in the future.

Eruestan sat up slightly, eyes going to the hallway when he heard the front door open. Imrathon had gone in search of their missing member, remembering the dwarf’s issues with navigation and not wanting Bilbo’s hard work to be ruined due to his lateness. He’d been waiting for his brother’s return, wondering how far Thorin had gotten from Bag End before being discovered.

“I’m back,” Imrathon called, hanging his cloak on the peg as well as removing his boots. “I found him.”

The group went to the various entryways into the hall, spotting the dark haired dwarf with the Dúnadan. The new arrivals were disarming, ensuring to follow Bilbo’s rules in regards as to what was allowed in Bag End.

“Gandalf,” Thorin began, turning away from the pegs where he’d hung his cloak. “I thought you said this place would be easy to find? I nearly lost my way had the ranger not found me.”

Hazel eyes met green as both rangers tried hard not to laugh at the comment. The Shire was not that difficult to navigate since there were signs everywhere, and there were not that many roads to get lost on. They hadn’t been sure if the navigation issue had been a film only problem but apparently, the king-in-exile had serious issues with getting lost above ground.

“Ah yes, well, the important thing is that you have arrived,” the Istar replied. “May I present our host for the evening?”

Bilbo padded to stand in front of the dwarf as the wizard continued with his introduction.

“Master Bilbo Baggins has kindly consented to host us for the night so we may rest and plan before leaving tomorrow to start our journey,” Gandalf told the dwarf. “Bilbo, may I present Thorin Oakenshield, son of Thrain, son of Thror?”

Thorin walked around the hobbit for a moment, eyeing him before speaking.

“So this is the hobbit,” he began. “Tell me, Master Baggins, which do you prefer – sword or axe?”

“Neither,” Bilbo answered calmly. “My dear friends taught me to use other styles of weapons since I do enjoy the occasional trip to places outside of the Shire. I will not be useless on this journey, Master Oakenshield. If everyone will follow me, dinner will now be served.”

The hobbit led them to the dining table, smiling as he gestured for his guests to take their seats. Imrathon took a seat beside his brother, blinking when Kili sat down on his other side.

“So, you’re a ranger?”

The Dúnadan chuckled, sipping his ale for a moment before answering the other.

“So, you’re a dwarf?”

The dwarven archer paused at that, snickering after a few moments, and Imrathon joined his laughter.

“Yes, I am. My name is Imrathon, one of the Dúnedain of the North. My brother is Eruestan,” he introduced himself and his sibling to the dwarf beside him.

“I’m Kili,” the dark haired dwarf replied, pointing to the blond sitting beside him. “That’s my brother, Fili.”

“Well met,” the ranger said, taking a bite of the meal Bilbo had prepared. 

“Well met,” Kili answered. “I wasn’t expecting to meet any of the Dúnedain here in the Shire. This land is so peaceful so I didn’t think this would be a stopping point for your people.”

“Every Dúnadan spends some of his time protecting the borders of the Shire,” Imrathon told him. “Even though the kingdom of Arnor is no more, we uphold our oaths in protecting this peaceful land. My brother and I befriended Bilbo years ago during our first patrol here, and we stop by Hobbiton whenever we can to visit him. Most hobbits are kind and good natured, and our host is a fine example of his people.”

“He seems pretty nice and hasn’t shown any signs of uncle terrifying him,” Fili observed, setting his tankard down.

“With all due respect, Master Fili,” Eruestan replied, hearing the conversation that the blond dwarf had joined. “Your uncle may have a serious weight on his shoulders regarding the safety of his people, but his bad moods have nothing on Belladonna Baggins or Adamanta Took when they were in a strop about something.”

“Who are they,” Kili asked. “His wife and mother?”

“Close,” Imrathon answered. “Belladonna was Bilbo’s mother, and Adamanta was his grandmother. The patrols knew to avoid either one whenever they were upset about something. I’ve no idea how Gerontius managed to keep from having his head ripped off when Adamanta was on one of her rampages.”

“Sounds like they’re spirited women then,” the younger dwarf said, popping another bite into his mouth.

“Took women usually are,” Bilbo stated, overhearing the conversation during a brief lull around the table. “Mama and Grandmama are still considered to be the best of the family and are often used as role models for the lasses born into the Took line. To this day, my mother holds the record for the furthest a hobbit has gone since the Wandering Days ended.”

“Where did she go,” Fili asked, leaning a bit to see Bilbo.

“She journeyed to Rivendell several times,” the hobbit answered, setting another piece of roast and vegetables onto his plate and serving Eruestan a bit more as well. 

“You’ll be taking that record soon,” the younger ranger pointed out. “I doubt any hobbit would be able to go further than you’re going.”

Bilbo nodded, giving his friend a small smile. There was a wistful look on his face that held a trace of sadness.

“Mama would be so proud,” he commented quietly. “At least she would be once she finished pulling Gandalf’s ear for trying to push a hobbit into taking this journey at the last minute.”

Eruestan gently patted his shoulder, giving him a sympathetic look. He and his brother knew how poorly Bilbo had taken the loss of his parents; they had met him as the Fell Winter had fallen but had not been able to help when Bungo had been attacked. When word had reached them of the hobbit matron’s illness several years later, they had hurried to the Shire to help. She was beyond their skills to heal, but they had been there to help their young friend through the dark days that followed his mother’s passing.

The conversation changed with Fili and Kili trying to learn more about the Dúnedain, and the two brothers shared what they could without giving away anything that was held secret and sacred to their kin. That particular conversation went on for a considerable length of time, going through cleanup and ending when Thorin looked at the two rangers with a gaze that was both question and suspicious.

“I have held my peace long enough,” the dwarf lord began. “Why are two Dúnedain from the north interested in our quest, and why should you be trusted?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author’s End Note - Sounds like there’s a lot of questions from Thorin. I hope he’ll get answers he needs. See you next chapter! ~ Laran


	5. Explanations

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author’s Notes – Thank you everyone for reading and reviewing so far. I appreciate your patience and loyalty towards my tales. Enjoy this update!
> 
> Disclaimer – I do not own “the Hobbit” or “Supernatural.” I’m just having fun borrowing characters and seeing what chaos I can create. I don’t make money from this either, just saying!

Well, Imrathon and Eruestan had expected Thorin to be blunt but it was still rather amusing and frustrating to have the full attention of one dwarf lord focused on them. The elder brother leaned back in his seat slightly, meeting the deep blue gaze of Thorin Oakenshield. This would take all the diplomacy and tact that his brother and Lord Elrond had pounded into his skull over the years since their arrival in Arda.

“My brother and I shared a dream not long ago and were given a warning from the Valar of what would come should your quest fail. It was a foretelling of what will happen if the quest fails or if the sons of Durin should fall during the journey,” Imrathon began. “Vairë and Irmo were rather adamant that we ensure the success of your mission.”

“There are events that could unfold, and we are charged to keep your company safe and ensure that Erebor is reclaimed,” Eruestan said quietly. “Your mountain is one of the strongholds that will help safeguard the east should the enemy become active, and the Valar are determined that you and your nephews rule the mountain with wisdom and strength.”

The words from the brothers caused a silence to fall over them, and Thorin frowned as he pondered their words.

“What proof do I have that you speak the truth,” he asked.

Imrathon kept his temper, thanks to years of practice and living amongst the Dúnedain and elves at various times. As much as he adored spending time with his cousin, some of the elves in Imladris had been known to push at his restraint.

“You came from a meeting of the dwarf lords, emissaries from all seven clans, and despite your lineage and the promises made in the past, all of them, including your cousin Dain, refused to lend their aid to your cause,” he began. “For some reason, the dwarven clans swore allegiance to a stone instead of the blood of a lineage that has held a throne for centuries. No idea why someone thought that was a good idea, but there it is. Anyway, it’s now up to you, your company, Bilbo, and Gandalf to see this done. You want a hobbit because you hope he can steal the stone from under Smaug’s nose and use it to rally the clans to fight with you to evict the worm.”

All eyes turned to Thorin, who gave a grim nod at the silent question he could see on their faces.

“He speaks the truth; I was told that this quest is ours and ours alone,” the dwarf lord said quietly, sounding very displeased.

“It’s not right they won’t help,” Bilbo commented, shaking his head. “Family should do all they can to help each other; your cousin should have agreed to lend his aid. The others might’ve sworn fealty to a stone, but the ties of blood should have been enough to do what one can to ensure the safety and wellbeing of those in need.”

“It should be, but Dain is ever cautious since the Battle of Azalanibizar,” Balin replied. “The loss of life then was too great to count, and those were against foes we had a good chance of defeating. A dragon is another target that cannot be so easily brought down.”

“My father used to say that every worm has its soft spot,” the hobbit said. “It’s a matter of finding Smaug’s and using it against him.”

“You will be joining us then, Master Baggins,” Thorin asked, looking at the smaller male.

“I will be,” he answered. “I know that your people need a home where your people can thrive and allow families to grow without fear of starvation or harm from those who do not accept dwarves for who they are.”

“You know of our situation?”

“My friends explained it to me, Master Oakenshield. Once I knew just how important this is to your people, I couldn’t refuse,” Bilbo said, making the Dúnedain smile.

“I was not aware the Dúnedain had an interest in dwarrow,” Thorin asked, eyes narrowed a bit.

“We have had the pleasure of escorting a few dwarven caravans over the years,” Imrathon answered with a smile. “We help out when we can after we came across one that had been attacked by orcs; it was then we met Lady Dis, and she has been known to summon us when a caravan is moving further outside the normal trading routes and needs extra people to help watch over them.”

“Now I know where I’ve seen you two before,” Balin interjected, tapping his knuckles lightly against the table. “It was when Dis, Ori, and I were in Bree; she had to meet someone and waited at the Prancing Pony.”

“You have a good memory, Master Balin,” Imrathon told him, giving a small smirk. “Usually we would see her in Ered Luin, but her business took her to Bree and we were returning from Rivendell so the Prancing Pony was the best place to meet.”

“Mum never mentioned knowing Dúnedain,” Fili commented. “I’m not surprised though; she always seemed confident when the caravans going longer distances went out. It makes sense she would have contacts to help protect them on those journeys.”

“Lady Dis respects them,” Ori piped in, blushing a little bit. “They treated us with respect at the Prancing Pony and kept several men from approaching her while we were there.”

The scribe’s words seemed to be the final reassurance Thorin needed as the king-in-exile nodded, learning back in his seat somewhat. 

“Then our number is now sixteen, and I am pleased with that,” he commented, knowing the two Dúnedain were experienced warriors and trackers. He could use every blade or axe he could get for this quest.

“The problem now lies in how to gain entry to the mountain,” Balin said. “The front gate is sealed, and we have no means of entering to verify if Smaug is alive or not.”

“That, my dear Balin, is not entirely true,” Gandalf stated, pulling out two objects that were very familiar to the two Dúnedain.

Eruestan listened to the conversation, nibbling idly on some cheese before speaking up when he heard the wizard comment about the clues to entering the mountain being on the map, and he heard Balin and Thorin agree that the khuzdul runes that decorated the parchment were an older form that was no longer used. This would take a bit of manipulation, but he thought he could nudge the situation the right way to get them to the right scholar. 

“Maps of that antiquity would require scholars who have had the time to make studies of such things,” he commented. “I know of a couple, but there’s a problem.”

“What problem would that be,” Dwalin asked, looking irritated.

“Your races have been feuding for a while, but I happen to know two people in Imladris who could take a look at that map and tell you what you’re missing. The only other person would be in Lothlórien, and that would be out of our way. I know it will make you all uncomfortable, but it would be wise speaking to Lord Elrond or Erestor in Imladris.

“Celeborn is amiable enough, but I think the company would do better with the elves of Rivendell. They’re not as rigid and formal as the elves of Lothlórien can be, and Valar knows that Mirkwood isn’t an option.”

“Elves? No, we will not take enter any elvish communities,” Thorin answered, looking furious.

Bilbo spoke up before Imrathon or Eruestan could, surprising the brothers as he brought up a point that was important for the dwarf lord to consider.

“I know dwarves can be long lived, but do you have a scholar that has lived for half a millennia or longer who might remember how to read the runes on your map? You don’t have access to the libraries of the mountains that have been the home of your people since the creation of the world,” the hobbit pointed out. “If you did, it would be easy to answer the riddle of the map. It isn’t so much as asking for help but using their knowledge to your gain.”

“They will do all they can to stop this quest,” the king-in-exile told Bilbo. “Elves have abandoned us to ruin, and I cannot jeopardize this quest.”

“You won’t be; it will take cunning and a bit of manipulation, but it can be done. As a Baggins of Bag End and nephew of the Thain, I’m aware that it’s not always the right thing to share the entire truth with the people you are working with. Granted, the spats I have to listen to as landlord are nowhere near what you or my uncle have to put up with but sometimes, it takes the right twisting of words to get what you want out of things. Hobbits are polite, but we can be rather sneaky when it comes down to it.”

“So what are you suggesting,” Balin asked, eyes alight with appreciation of their new burglar’s insight.

“We steal what we need without causing too much of a fuss; knowledge is usually freely given, especially under the right circumstances,” Bilbo answered. “Our two Dúnedain friends know who to ask in order to read the script on the map without triggering any sort of suspicion regarding the goals of our quest.”

Imrathon met Eruestan’s eyes, giving his brother a playful grin as they realized what Bilbo was hinting at. Elrond wasn’t the oldest elf in Rivendell and if luck was with them, they knew exactly who to ask.

“I think, my dear friend, we can certainly do that,” the older brother told the hobbit. “I know of one who would have that knowledge and would be willing to keep silent on what we show him.”

“Excellent,” Bilbo said with a smile, leaning back in his seat. “All we have to do is pretend to have a destination in mind, stop for supplies and relax while they get the answers to the map, and then head out without raising the suspicions of Lord Elrond. I can try to keep him distracted since he knew my mother; I can ask questions and beg for stories of her time there. I’m certain that will do the trick.”

“If not, I’m certain we can find other ways of distracting them,” Fili answered, eyes gleaming with mischief.

Gandalf shook his head, chuckling as he did so. He had thought to ask Elrond about the map, but he realized Bilbo’s plan was better than his own. Truth was, he couldn’t wait to see what distractions the dwarves and hobbit had planned for the elves while the Dúnedain gained the answers the company needed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author’s End Note – I hope you enjoyed the chapter. Please let me know what you thought of it. See everyone next time. ~ Laran


	6. The Adventure Begins

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author’s Note – Thank you so much for your patience with this story. I have been haunted by “Mending the Broken Pieces,” which is a Bagginshield story that has been demanding my attention lately. I appreciate your patience, though I think Mom’ll tear my head off if I keep her waiting much longer lol.
> 
> The weapon Bilbo is using is known as a flail, which comes in several forms, but his has a spiked ball at the end of the chain. This weapon has been misnamed by others as a “morning star,” but my research calls a morning star something else entirely. The spiked ball is what is misleading!
> 
> Disclaimer – I do not own “Supernatural” or “the Hobbit.” I don’t make money from this story either.

The next morning, the group slowly vacated Bag End and headed towards the farm where the horses and ponies were stabled. Bilbo had drawn quite a bit of attention when Gandalf and the dwarrow realized the hobbit was armed.

Due to the friendship Imrathon and his brother had struck with the Baggins family after coming to Arda, they’d had time and permission from Belladonna to ensure Bilbo had the ability to defend himself during his walking holidays and the quest that would come to him later in life. The brothers had instructed him in archery as well as the use of a flail. Once he had mastered the weapons and reached his full height, they had gifted him the weapons that would last him a lifetime with the proper care.

From the times they had seen Bilbo after his coming of age, the hobbit had continued practicing faithfully and tended to the weapons and gear every night to ensure they were taken care of. The brothers always sparred with him to help him keep his skills from growing rusty, and the trio had found it rather fun to spar with each other.

The wizard had been stunned at the sight of the weapons, but the dwarrow had been more interested in the melee weapon Bilbo carried. The flail was well crafted and had a large spiked ball at the end of the chain; it was certainly a weapon none of them had expected to see.

“Do you know how to use that,” Dwalin asked as they headed down the road to the Grubb’s farm.

“I’ve been training with it for decades,” Bilbo answered amiably. “It suits me quite well, I think. Imrathon helped me choose the right weapon for close ranged fights, and they gifted this one and my bow to me when I came of age.”

“May I see it,” the burly dwarf asked, taking it when the hobbit offered it to him.

The bald dwarf looked over the weapon, then grinned. He’d spotted the maker’s mark and recognized it immediately.

“Well, at least we know it’ll last a long time and hold up in battle,” he announced. “Thorin, it’s one of yours.”

The dwarf lord paused, extending a hand to his friend and taking the weapon. Blue eyes looked over the flail, spotting his mark.

“I remember this; Dis told me she’d had a message asking for this particular weapon and gave me the measurements needed. It surprised me because it’s rare to be asked for something like this,” he commented, examining the flail carefully. “You have treated it well, Master Baggins.”

Bilbo grinned, taking the weapon back and holstering it properly.

“A good weapon has to be maintained in order to work effectively,” he answered, quoting Imrathon. “I never thought I’d need it, but it looks like it might be useful on this journey.”

“Indeed,” Thorin told him. 

“Any good with the bow,” Kili asked, glad to see another archer in the party outside of the two Dúnedain with them.

“Hobbits have good eyesight,” the curly haired male replied. “I can hit a bird from a tree from a range of twenty feet or thereabouts.”

“Bilbo took to the bow quicker than he did the flail,” Eruestan shared. “We hunt together when we come to visit, and he spots targets faster than we do. It was a bit of a challenge to design a bow that would have enough power to damage creatures larger than him; hobbits are only slightly smaller than dwarrow but aren’t as strong. We ended up having to present the problem to a bowyer in Rivendell in order to have the right one made for him.”

“Your bow was made in Rivendell,” Kili questioned, continuing after Bilbo nodded. “May I have a look at it tonight after we make camp? I’m curious as to how different dwarven bows are to elvish ones.”

“Of course,” the hobbit agree. “Maybe we can do some hunting together when time allows? Outside of their visits, I usually hunt alone and it can be rather lonely at times.”

“I understand that; it’s why I usually take Fili with me,” the dark haired male answered, falling into step beside Bilbo. “That and he worries I’ll get lost. I tell him that it’s Uncle Thorin who has that habit, but he swears that since I look a bit like uncle, I’ll have gotten his direction issues too.”

“Big brothers like to worry,” Eruestan told him. “Imrathon has been that way since we were children, and I doubt that it’ll ever fade. I don’t mind though, we seem to take turns saving each other’s backsides.”

“Both like to get into trouble,” Fili asked.

“More like trouble finds us,” Imrathon shared. “We were pretty mischievous as children whenever we could get away from our father’s eyes for a while. Sometimes, I’m not sure who leads the other into trouble.”

Eruestan chuckled, shaking his head as they took the turn up to the Grubb’s door. When they got to the door, Bilbo knocked politely and sent Faldo off for his father when the lad answered. 

“Master Bilbo,” Falco greeted. “Good morning to you, sir.”

“Good morning,” the tawny haired hobbit greeted. “My friends here have their ponies and horses stabled with you.”

“That they do,” he stated. “They’re in the paddock for the moment; the pasture is being mowed, and I didn’t want them startled by the hands working out there.”

Bilbo smiled, pressing something into Falco’s hand before turning towards the paddock in question. The company followed after the older hobbit refused payment from the dwarrow, stating the other hobbit had taken care of it.

The group groomed the horses and then saddled them, getting all of the supplies loaded onto the backs of the ponies chosen for that particular purpose. 

Imrathon boosted Bilbo into the saddle, then adjusted the stirrups for him so he would be able to ride in comfort. As he worked, Eruestan gave a quiet lesson on how to ride, ensuring their friend knew how to make the pony do as he wanted her to do. 

Once everyone was mounted, Thorin began leading the company out of the Shire, heading east. The two Dúnedain rode near the back of the column, knowing the territory was safe and their skills wouldn’t be required for the moment. They stayed quiet, watching as Bilbo chatted with a few of the company members.

“I think it went better than what was portrayed,” Eruestan commented in English, knowing the conversation wouldn’t be understood.

“Yeah, it did. I really thought there would be problems. Truthfully, it makes me nervous because nothing starts out smooth for us.”

“Let’s hope it’s the Valar watching out for us,” the younger brother replied. “I don’t want to start off worrying myself sick over what could go wrong.”

“We know what went wrong in the books and movies,” Imrathon told him. “We just have to make sure each problem is approached in a way that doesn’t put them at as much risk. It’ll be impossible to make it risk free so we’ll have to really keep an eye on things.”

“Any idea on what to do about the pest problem,” Eruestan asked since that was a serious issue.

“We get the black arrow from Bard and go in. One of us will try to get the dragon to rear up to reveal the weak spot, and the other will shoot him. After that, keep them out of the mountain until the wizard arrives to ensure the treasure isn’t contaminated,” the elder brother answered. “Might keep the gold sickness from happening.”

“Something needs to be done about that stone too,” the hazel eyed male added. “I am not unconvinced it and the ring the king wore before the mountain fell didn’t have something to do with the sickness he fell under.”

“You’re probably right; I’m glad that ring isn’t a problem,” Imrathon nodded. “Might sneak the stone out and drop it into the volcano with the other ring that’ll pop up in the Misty Mountains.”

“It’s a plan,” Eruestan agreed. “Might be too simple but sometimes, simple is what’s needed instead of having something intricate planned. If it’s too detailed, things can go wrong simply because it’s too complicated.”

“We’ve learned that all too well over the years,” the green eyed male commented. “I think we’ll stick with that game plan until the mountain is safe, and then we’ll come up with another for the ring issue. If the wizard decides to hold a counsel, we insist it’s either in the mountain or in Lothlórien. I have no desire to try to cross the Misty Mountains with that blasted fallen wizard trying to catch us, and we both know he will hear of the counsel and realize something is wrong.”

“We’ll have to do something about him and make sure he doesn’t go into the Shire like he did in the books,” Eruestan growled, remembering that part. 

“I nearly forgot about that,” his brother grumbled. “Right, we may have to see if we can get the Vala he serves to intervene so no innocent is harmed by him.”

“Lady Vairë or Lady Varda might be willing to intercede with Mahal and see if He can’t do something about the wizard problem,” the younger one suggested, reminding him of the Valië that had brought them to Arda.

“We can try to pray or something to get their attention so we can ask,” Imrathon agreed. “I can’t see them saying no since hobbits are the most innocent of the people in Middle Earth.”

“I guess we’ve got ourselves a plan then.”

“Yeah, provided a certain dwarf king’s temper doesn’t flare up or the stubbornness of dwarrow decide to mess everything up,” the elder brother commented, making his sibling laugh.

All in all, it was good to have some form of plan to handle the events that were coming up. The brothers simply hoped they could keep to the plan and not have something screw it up. Knowing their luck, it was distinctly possible they would have to remake plans due to complications.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author’s End Note – I hope everyone enjoyed this. We’ll see if the plan holds or not; it can be difficult to make plans due to the curiosity of hobbits and dwarves as well as the stubbornness of said dwarves as well. See everyone next time, Laran.


	7. Hunting and History

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author’s Note – You guys are amazing; the responses to the last chapter were great and very inspiring. I’ve gotten a bit stuck on working on “Mending the Broken Pieces,” which is my female Bilbo and Thorin story. It’s been haunting me day and night so it makes it difficult to focus on my other projects. Add to that, I had my disability hearing Friday and am now playing the worry waiting game until I hear what the judge has to say on it.
> 
> Upon reflection, I’m adjusting the time line and age of Bilbo a bit. Since the Winchesters have been in Arda for nearly twenty years, I’m having them meet Bilbo when he was a tween (about 21 years of age). Bungo died during the Fell Winter, which is when they meet the Baggins family and befriended them while keeping the Shire safe. Bilbo himself is going to be 40 instead of 50 here because I wanted the Winchesters to be there during part of his formative years.
> 
> Disclaimer – I do not own “the Hobbit” or “Supernatural,” and I do not make any money from this story.

Even with the aid of the mounts, the company did not reach the borders of the Shire that night. So when the group stopped to make camp, Eruestan took care of Bilbo’s pony so he and Kili could hunt game for that night’s dinner. The hobbit and dwarf informed Thorin before slipping away from the company to see what they could find.

Bilbo moved quietly through the grass, sharp eyes looking for any sign of tracks. He was aware of Kili moving next to him, but the young dwarf made no sound either. He’d been worried about that since the dwarves of the company were not the quietest when they moved. The hobbit had a feeling it was due to the heavy boots and equipment all of them wore.

Blue eyes widened slightly when he spotted a familiar looking set of tracks and lightly touched the other archer’s arm before pointing them out.

“Deer,” Kili breathed out.

“A small herd I believe,” he murmured. “Let’s see if we can find them; we won’t want to thin them out too much, but one or two would be enough to feed the company.”

The dwarf nodded, and the pair followed the tracks to find a small herd of deer drinking from a stream. Bilbo quietly pointed out the one he was going to go after, and Kili indicated the one he would try to take down as well. The two they had singled out would not harm the herd’s ability to continue to grow, and both silently drew arrows from their quivers.

Within seconds, the pair of them had moved into the right positions to take down their targets and arrows soon flew to strike down the pair of deer that had been marked as their quarry. Both animals dropped, and the herd ran off to evade the predators.

Bilbo emerged from his hiding place, going to the doe he had chosen. He ended the animal’s life by using a dagger he kept hidden, then pulled the arrow from the carcass to be cleaned later once they had brought the deer back to camp to be cooked.

“Nice shot,” Kili called from his own kill.

“Same to you,” he called back, slinging his bow properly. “We’ll need to clean these near camp; a day of rain will wash the scent away here but not if we clean them. I’ve no wish to disturb any other animals who use this stream for water.”

The dwarf agreed, knowing the hobbit was right and the pair soon slung their kills over their shoulders and headed back to camp.

Both Imrathon and Eruestan were happy to see the looks of surprise on the faces of the company when their friend entered the camp with Kili. Both archers were carrying a deer, and it seemed the dwarrow were rather shocked to see Bilbo carting the carcass with ease. 

“Hobbits must be stronger than they look,” Imrathon heard Dwalin comment to Balin.

“They’re a farming people for the most part,” the older ranger told the sons of Fundin. “Even Bilbo, who is a landowner and from a noble family, does a lot of heavy lifting in regards to his gardens and the training he does with his weapons only helped to strengthen him further.”

Eruestan took Bilbo’s burden from him while Fili claimed Kili’s kill, and the two slipped away from camp to clean the two carcasses and allow the hunters a chance to clean themselves and their weapons.

“Master Baggins took most of the company by surprise,” the fair haired dwarf commented as they set to work on cleaning the kill.

“Bilbo has the knack for doing that,” Eruestan replied, knives cutting into the carcass he was working on. “My brother and I met him when he was younger, and he delighted in trying to catch us off guard when he could. He’s a very intelligent person, is quick on his feet, and he learned what we had to teach him rather swiftly.”

“My uncle was not exactly pleased when Tharkûn insisted on including a hobbit in the company,” the prince shared. “If Master Baggins continues to contribute as he has, I think he’ll have an easier time of gaining acceptance from the older dwarrow.”

“I’ve noticed the older ones tend to be more suspicious,” Eruestan commented. “It took Dis a few days before she accepted my brother and me, but she’s been a loyal friend ever since. I think Bilbo will find true friendships here once the company loses their distrust of anyone who is not a dwarf.”

“My people haven’t exactly had good reason to not be suspicious of strangers,” Fili began, blinking when the Dúnadan stopped him by raising a bloody hand.

“The dwarrow of Durin’s Folk have not had an easy time of it since losing Erebor,” the ranger told him. “My brother and I are aware of it and have done what we can to help whenever possible. We ensured Bilbo was informed of the difficulties your people have had over the years, and he knows what to expect. He’s stronger than he looks, Master Fili, so give him time to prove himself. My brother and I believe he will earn the friendship of each member of the company before the journey’s end.”

“You have a lot of faith in him,” the dwarf replied, looking up at the Dúnadan with a questioning expression on his face.

“Imrathon and I met him when he was twenty-one,” Eruestan shared. “The winter was a very hard one, coming too early and disrupting the harvest schedule for the hobbits. My brother and I were assigned by our chieftain to protect the Shire during the winter, and our troop scattered throughout the Shire in order to ensure protection for each portion of it. We were given Hobbiton and since the Baggins family home is prepared to host the big folk, Bungo and Belladonna invited us to stay with them when we ended our patrols.

“Bilbo helped his fellow hobbits by bringing what supplies that could be spared to those less fortunate than his family to their smials, braving the cold and wild animals that invaded the Shire. He and his parents helped rally defense of their homes when attacks happened that had our troop scattered all over the place. He was just a tween when he killed his first wolf, trying to protect his father even though he was injured as well, and it took him a long while to work through the grief and guilt when he realized Bungo had been injured too badly to survive longer than a few days. My brother and I did all we could to help him, but our skills are not at the level of Lord Elrond’s when it comes to healing.”

Eruestan paused, swallowing to try to loosen the tightness of his throat before continuing.

“Bilbo blamed himself but not once did he or Belladonna become angry at the Dúnedain for their losses. In fact, they argued that we had done our best, helping everyone hold out until more of the Dúnedain could reach the Shire. Our numbers had been stretched thin as all of Eriador had been covered by the horrid winter that year.”

Fili blinked, realizing that they had been wrong in their assumptions about the hobbit. Thorin and Dwalin both believed Master Baggins had not faced adversity, and he knew he would have to talk to them about what the Dúnadan had shared with him. 

“If he is as brave and clever as you say he is, I am glad Master Baggins joined the company. I’ll talk to my brother about this and see if we can’t make things move faster in regards to him finding acceptance and a place within the company.”

“I hope they will listen to you,” Eruestan answered, finishing up with his task. “I am done here. You?”

“Finished as well,” Fili replied, setting the bloody knives aside to be cleaned and burying the parts of the animals that could not be used.

The pair of them soon rejoined the camp to pass the meat to Bombur to be cooked, going off to clean themselves up so they could relax for the rest of the evening. They returned a few moments later to find Bilbo chatting with the heavy dwarf as the pair prepared the evening meal.

Eruestan sat beside his brother, pulling a whetstone from his pocket and began sharpening the knives he’d used to clean and butcher the deer Bilbo had killed. He hummed softly as he worked, listening to the conversation that flowed around the camp.

“I did a bit of a patrol earlier while you were playing with deer guts,” Imrathon murmured in English. “No signs of orcs so far.”

“That’s good to know,” he answered back in the same language. “If at all possible, it would be wise to put an end to a certain orc before we reach the other side of the Misty Mountains. It would make things easier.”

“What of said orc’s son,” his brother asked, remembering Bolg was also a serious problem that would bite them in the ass if they didn’t find a way to take care of him as well.

“In the movie, he didn’t cross the company’s path until Laketown but only after most of them had gone on to the mountain,” Eruestan commented, contemplating the problem. “I’ve no wish to go anywhere near where the necromancer is, and that’s where the creature will go before heading to Laketown to try to hunt down his targets.”

“So we’re stuck waiting for him to cross our path since we don’t dare leave the company,” Imrathon frowned. “Which brings up another issue we hadn’t given much thought to.”

“What’s that?”

“Trolls,” he reminded him. “The swords in their hoard will be needed in the future, but we need to ensure no one gets hurt when those three show up.”

“Son of a bitch,” the younger brother swore, setting his knife down to look at the other.

“Forgot about that, didn’t you,” he asked with a note of amusement in his voice.

“I was sort of focused on the bigger issues,” he admitted, giving a rueful smile to his brother. “Truth is, they get through it without injury so it never really crossed my mind.”

“With us there, we run the risk of more problems since our luck tends to be a fickle thing. I would like to keep our good friend from being used as kleenex this time around.”

“Knowing him, he’d agree with you,” Eruestan frowned. “I guess we could go scouting and discover the problem. The thing is can this group, with us included, take out three fully grown mountain trolls?”

“Depends on the terrain,” the elder commented. “If it’s close quarters, we run a higher risk of someone being caught or hurt. If we have more room, we can divide them up and handle them that way.”

“Worse comes to worse, Bilbo can give them cooking lessons again.”

“Yeah, I’m not so sure the skin them first comment will win any points with this group,” Imrathon pointed out. “The younger ones are accepting of him, but the older ones are still very standoffish with him. I don’t like that; this group needs to be a fully cohesive unit before we leave Rivendell. Otherwise, we’re going to have serious problems when a certain pack catches up.”

“Reminds me, which one of us is going with Bilbo when it’s time to find the ring,” Eruestan asked.

“I’ll go,” he answered. “Bilbo didn’t kill him the last time, and I am not going to leave things to chance when it comes to that awful creature. If he’s allowed to live, he could end up following and jeopardizing both the quest for the mountain and to the volcano to take care of that stupid ring.”

“You’re right; we need to keep everyone safe, and we both know that Gollum won’t care about anything other than the ring. He’ll do anything to get it back, and the lives of the company are too important to put at risk. Bilbo won’t like it,” he reminded his elder brother.

“We’ll tell him the truth of what happened during the final books,” the green eyed male stated. “I have no doubt he’ll do what he can to protect his family; he won’t have to do it. I’ll take care of the damned bastard so Bilbo won’t have to.”

“He may surprise us, I don’t know. Question, since our friend is fully armed, what should happen with Sting?”

Imrathon drew out a breath, thinking on the question. As he did so, his gaze moved to scan the members of the company before alighting on one particular dwarf. 

“There’s one member of the company who isn’t properly armed,” he finally answered. “Sting will go to him, and I’ll go to the king to override his brothers if they try to object.”

“I still have no idea why he was allowed to join without some form of protection,” Eruestan agreed. “A slingshot is good for hunting birds and a few other things but not for what we’re going to face. You might have to get someone to override the brothers but then again, you may be able to appeal to their need to protect since you’re an older brother yourself.”

Imrathon nodded, knowing what the other was referring to. He’d been on the fence about teaching his brother how to defend himself and hunt. It had taken Bobby reminding him that his sibling needed to be able to protect himself if they were ever separated, and that had frightened him into teaching the younger one everything he could to ensure he wouldn’t be harmed. It had been one of the best decisions he’d made because he knew his brother was the one he could always count on to ensure his back was protected.

“Right, I’ll have a chat with the two later and see what I can do. In the meantime, we’ll just carry on as we have and do our best to keep everyone safe.”

The two brothers sent what prayers they could to the Valar, asking for strength and wisdom to get everyone through this in one piece. With dwarrow and a curious hobbit as members of the company, they could use all the help they could get!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author’s End Note - Well, Mom’s happy with the chapter so that means it can go up. She’s an awesome beta, and I use her for a sounding board for most of my writing projects. She’s always up to listen, suggest ideas to help the tale flow better, and beta read – even if the story isn’t in a fandom she likes. So major kudos for the most awesome mom in the world! I hope you enjoyed this as much as she did. Thanks for reading, and see you next chapter. ~ Laran


	8. Seriously?!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author’s Note – It’s been a while, but it’s due to lack of trying on my part to get this chapter out. Health issues and then my computer decided to eat the original version of chapter eight, so I took some time off and then wrote this out. I hope you all enjoy it!
> 
> Disclaimer – I do not own “the Hobbit” or “Supernatural.” I’m borrowing the characters and settings, which are not mine, and I don’t make money from this story.

Imrathon was cursing as he fought against the bonds, hearing his brother swearing under his breath as he tried to break free as well. Everything had been going reasonably well too so the elder brother was at a loss as to how this had happened. As he struggled, he thought back to the past events, trying to determine just where things had gone wrong and gotten out of their control.

The rain had been planned for although the brothers had not anticipated a week’s worth of the stuff. Everything had gotten wet despite the precautions taken to keep their supplies and personal belongings dry, and everyone had gotten rather irritated due to Bilbo’s fairly good mood throughout the deluge. The hobbit had shrugged off the glares, commenting that it was important that the plants got the water they needed, and he’d just grinned at Imrathon whenever the elder Dúnedain had tried to prank him in retaliation. 

Of course, the pranking had been noticed by two devious dwarrow brothers and that had set off a prank war that had not just targeted both sets of brothers. By the time Bilbo had interfered, the entire company had been dealing with missing items, sabotaged weapons practice, scaring each other during the short breaks to stretch their legs, amongst other things. When the tea, necessary for certain people in the morning, had been sabotaged, Bilbo had proven to several members just why you didn’t mess with a hobbit’s food. He had gone off on Imrathon, Eruestan, Kili, and Fili with a vengeance, scaring them into a truce with how fiercely he had promised retribution. 

Well, he scared Imrathon and Eruestan, who had quickly filled the other two pranksters in on just how thorough a hobbit’s vengeance could be. Hobbits were kind people, provided you didn’t push them too far, and they had experienced a Took’s wrath on more than one occasion. Based on the Dúnedain’s explanations, the two princes decided to call a truce since they had no wish to handle the wrath Bilbo could dish out on their heads. 

It had been fun while it lasted, Imrathon acknowledged as he tried harder to get out of the knots that held him so snugly. However, the problem had started when they had reached the ruined farmhouse, recognizing it immediately. Eruestan, being the more diplomatic of the two, had tried to intervene before Gandalf and Thorin could butt heads over elves and choice of camping spot.

Unfortunately, his brother’s efforts had been wasted and he’d been treated to the scalding side of Thorin’s tongue, though the king had acknowledged the plan crafted in Bag End that he’d been reminded of. Imrathon had not interfered, knowing that the dwarf king had good reason to be furious with the elves, and he knew that his brother agreed with his opinion on the situation. Thranduil was a jerk, plain and simple, and Gandalf’s insistence on going to Rivendell would certainly agitate the dwarrow members of the company. Imrathon and Eruestan had hoped to bring up the necessity of having the map translated in a more tactful way, but the wizard had preempted them before they could even talk to the dwarf.

The Istar had stalked off, probably heading to Rivendell anyway to warn of the coming party, and the company had been stuck dealing with their leader’s foul mood. Imrathon had offered to do a bit of scouting since the damage to the farm house had seemed fairly recent, but Thorin had waved him off. Since the offer hadn’t worked and the two princes had been sent to watch the ponies, Eruestan and Imrathon had gone through a quick brainstorming session in English to try to find a way to get this to work in their favor. The plan was not complicated, and it had every chance of going wrong. However, it was at least something to try instead of leaving things to chance.

Eruestan had volunteered to take the meal to Fili and Kili, discovering ponies were missing, and once they’d discovered the trolls, the trio had returned to camp to report the situation. A discussion was hastily had, and the company had gone to face the trolls. Bilbo had been ordered to remain behind to watch the camp; the hobbit had not been pleased with Thorin’s decision but had acquiesced to keep the foul temper from exploding even further.

For all the planning they had done in the impromptu session, they had forgotten to take into account their own weird bad luck as well as the rotten luck that seemed to follow the company in the movies and book. 

The skirmish had started out all right; the company and Dúnedain worked together well and had kept the trolls off balance. Sharp blades lashed out at any vulnerable point that could be reached on a mountain troll, which weren’t many, and it seemed like they might actually get through the situation when they heard a scream.

“Drop your weapons or we’ll rip his arms and legs off,” one of the trolls ordered.

All eyes turned to the figure of the company’s scribe being held rightly between two trolls. Eruestan growled, noticing Dori and Nori being held back by two members of the group, and the two rangers were quick to drop their weapons when Thorin did the same.

Which led to the situation they were now currently in – tied up in sacks with some of the dwarrow bound to a spit. It was something they had really hoped to avoid, and Imrathon was seriously not happy with the circumstances.

“I knew I was forgetting something,” he grumbled in English. “Training the scribe.”

“What’s done is done; now we have to hope that Bilbo realizes something is wrong and comes up with some sort of idea to rescue us,” Eruestan answered. 

“So long as I don’t hear the words skin them first,” Imrathon growled, frowning as he listened to the argument about how the company should be cooked.

“While I applaud the notion of sauteing them, I sincerely doubt you have all of the ingredients needed to make a well rounded dish,” an unexpected voice called. 

The trolls and company turned to stare at the small figure; Bilbo had just entered the campsite, armed and focused on the mountain trolls.

“You know something about cooking dwarf,” the cook asked the hobbit.

“Of course I do,” he replied. “I’m a hobbit; we know our food better than any race on Middle Earth.”

“Never heard of hobbits,” one of the other trolls said.

“I’m not surprised,” Bilbo answered. “Truth is, we don’t travel much since we love our comfort and it’s a shame because I doubt there’s a race on Middle Earth who can match our cooking skills.”

Imrathon stared at his brother, hoping Bilbo wasn’t about to do what he thought he was. Eruestan stared back, eyes wide as he shook his head. He was as clueless as his brother at this point. They looked back in time to see one of the trolls try to pick the hobbit up.

“Release me,” Bilbo demanded.

“Or what,” the troll sneered. “You’re no cook..”

His words trailed off, and he began screaming when the spiked ball at the end of the hobbit’s flail buried itself into one of his eyes. Bilbo expertly pulled the ball back, taking several steps away from the howling troll.

“It’s disrespectful to pick up a person and threaten them when they’re trying to help,” he scolded, flail still at the ready beside him. “Now, as I was saying, sauteing with as few ingredients as you have simply won’t work. It’s difficult to get dwarf tender and flavorful, especially since they have an off odor about them.”

“I’ve eaten dwarves raw and never had a problem with the smell or taste,” the middle troll commented, ignoring his screaming friend and the cook, who wasn’t happy with him interrupting the conversation.

“My goodness, are you healthy, sir,” the hobbit asked, sounding very concerned.

“Wait, what? Yes, I’m healthy. Why does a little ferret like you want to know,” the troll asked, sounding both confused and angry.

“Because dwarrow have parasites in them! You can’t eat raw dwarf because you’ll catch what they have! You’ve got to cook them if you want to stay healthy,” Bilbo insisted, upsetting many of the company.

Kili tried to protest, but Thorin kicked him. The king had realized, at the same time as the Dúnedain, what the hobbit was attempting, and he knew Bilbo needed to be undisturbed so his concentration wouldn’t break. The archer stayed quiet, and the protests that came from the other members died down right then.

“Why, my great aunt Tulip ate raw meat and was incredibly sick for nearly two weeks,” he continued. “It’s way too risky, especially out here in the wild. There’s no place to find a healer if you become ill; your friends wouldn’t have what they needed to treat you.”

“So what recipe would you recommend trying with these dwarves,” the cook asked.

“Roasting them as you are won’t work,” Bilbo told him. “They’re too dense, and the meat takes time to become tender. You’ll have a difficult time eating them and won’t enjoy it at all if you roast them like this. Have you a large pot with a lid?”

The cook frowned, thinking on the question, and the hobbit didn’t rush him. He cast an eye to the horizon, looking satisfied, and then back at the trio. The injured one was sobbing and screaming, threatening to come after him, but that was stopped when the cook hit him hard.

“Shut your pie hole! I’m trying to think here!”

“If you have one, you could let them cook slowly in a broth. It’ll tenderize the meat, remove the odor, and ensure a lovely flavor,” Bilbo encouraged. “Truthfully, one of my favorite recipes is based on that and I’ve had relatives trying to steal it for years. However, since you seem like such a nice fellow, I’m willing to trade you for it.”

“You’d trade me a recipe you won’t even give your family?”

“You’re much nicer than most of my relatives, I assure you. I’ve an aunt who very much wishes to get her grubby paws on my home and a cousin who is very much like her. There’s simply no way I would give any of my recipes to someone like that! No taste or sense of refinement at all,” the hobbit said.

Much to the amazement of dwarrow and Dúnedain, the cook and Bilbo traded recipes for at least ten minutes before there was a loud crack. Sunlight poured through the now broken boulder, turning the trolls to stone.

“Thank Yavanna,” the hobbit said, sagging slightly before snagging one of Fili’s daggers from the pile of weapons the trolls had made. “I was starting to think you’d never get here, Gandalf.”

“I arrived precisely when I meant to,” the wizard answered back. “Well done in playing for time, Bilbo.”

“I was about to lose my audience if you hadn’t gotten here when you did,” he stated, cutting the ropes on the bags that held most of the company. “The recipes he was giving me were utterly disgusting and if I heard one more with squirrel dung in the ingredients list, I would have thrown up and completely ruined everything.”

“That doesn’t sound appealing at all,” Gandalf said, releasing the dwarrow on the spit.

“No, it doesn’t,” Bilbo commented, working his way through the bags. “I knew dawn was getting closer, and I wasn’t sure if I could keep this up. Cracking that boulder helped speed things along.”

“What happened to this one’s eye,” the gray clad man asked, frowning at the third.

“He decided to try to pick me up so I encouraged him to leave me alone. He could have easily hurt me, and I’ve no wish to slow everyone down because of broken bones,” he told him, handing Fili his dagger once the bags were cut.

“That was nice work with the flail, Master Baggins,” Dwalin stated, grabbing his clothing from the pile. “I didn’t even see you move.”

Bilbo blushed, giving the warrior a smile as he answered.

“I learned to be fast with it; one of the advantages hobbits have is our speed, and Imrathon and Eruestan encouraged me to work on speed with my weapons and unarmed combat. I’m glad I haven’t lost any of it,” he said, running a hand through his hair. 

“We’ll have to make sure to work with you on it to help you keep going,” Dwalin said, finishing with his dressing and looking for his weapons. 

“Which reminds me, what happened? I waited for a while until I realized something must be wrong and came to investigate,” the hobbit asked.

“Ori got caught during the battle,” Bofur answered, working with his brother to get Bifur dressed.

Imrathon finished dressing, tucking away his daggers and sheathing his sword before turning to face Dori.

“Master Dori, may I have a word with you?”

“Of course,” the elder brother of the trio said, following the elder Dúnedain out of earshot.

“Good gracious,” Bilbo looked over at Ori. “Are you all right?”

“I’m fine,” the scribe replied, blushing. “Mister Dwalin caught me when the trolls threw me down so I didn’t get hurt.”

“That’s good to know,” the curly haired male said, finding a quiet place to lean against as the group dressed and rearmed themselves.

“Master Baggins,” Thorin began, walking up to the hobbit. “That was a well thought out plan on your part; thank you for interfering when you did. We might have lost people had you not intervened.”

“You’re welcome, Master Oakenshield,” he answered, pleased his actions had been acknowledged. 

The king-in-exile nodded, striding off to talk to Gandalf and Dwalin, leaving Bilbo a little stunned and flustered.

Eruestan, who had heard the short conversation, walked up to his friend and smiled. He was happy Thorin was spotting the benefits of having Bilbo with them, and he was very proud of his hobbit friend for his brave actions.

“Very nicely done, Bilbo,” he said, putting a hand on his shoulder.

“I just did what I had to do,” the other admitted. “I was frightened, but there was no way I was going to lose my friends.”

“You kept your calm, remembered your training, and did everything you could to protect us. That, my friend, is a job well done. I am proud of you.”

“Thank you, Eruestan,” Bilbo answered. “I just hope I can continue to show that I can pull my weight here and not slow everyone down.”

“The one that presents a risk of doing that is Ori,” the Dúnadan said softly. “I’m hoping my brother’s conversation with Dori will allow that to change. A slingshot is good for a hunting tool but not for something like this.”

“I didn’t realize he was carrying a slingshot and nothing else,” the hobbit replied, looking worried.

Eruestan didn’t have to answer because his brother and the dwarf came back to the group moments later, and Dori’s voice could be heard as he addressed Dwalin.

“Mister Dwalin, if you have time in the evenings during our journey, would you be willing to train Ori to fight? He was not able to take the training when it was offered, and I have come to the realization that he needs to be better protected.”

“Aye, Master Dori, I am willing,” the warrior answered. “We’ll start with unarmed until we find a weapon he’s comfortable with.”

“Thank you,” Dori said, giving a small bow before going to speak with his brothers.

“Right, let’s find the cave where the hoard is,” Thorin said. “We might find something useful so spread out and start looking.”

With that, the company followed his orders and began hunting for the cave the trolls were using. The Dúnedain overheard Bofur comment to his family that he hoped this would be the only problem they ran into, and both brothers gave each other grim looks since they knew this was only the beginning. There was a lot more to come.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author’s End Note – I decided a slightly different approach to the trolls. We have a more confident Bilbo here, and I thought he’d handle things a bit differently. Poor Imrathon and Eruestan! I know they’d hoped to avoid being bagged, but things don’t always work out. I guess their luck hasn’t changed much from one world to the other! Thanks for reading; please let me know what you thought of the story. See you next time. ~ Laran


	9. Hoard and Chase

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author’s Note - It took a while to get this one done, and I hope it reads all right. It’s difficult keeping a balance since I know my beta wants Eruestan and Imrathon to shine a bit more, but it’s an ensemble story. I just hope I can keep her and everyone else happy without disrupting my vision for this tale. We’ll see how it goes. I hope you enjoy the chapter!
> 
> Disclaimer – I do not own “Supernatural” or “The Hobbit.” The two are owned by other people, and I don’t make money from this story.

When the cave containing the hoard of the trolls was found, Eruestan went in with the company to see if he could spot the blade that Bilbo had used in the books and movies. Since his friend was well armed, he and Imrathon had decided to gift it to Ori since the scribe desperately needed a weapon that would do more to protect himself than a slingshot would. 

His brother had pulled him aside as they had searched for the cave, quickly telling him about how the talk with Dori had gone. The dwarf hadn’t been too thrilled with the idea of allowing his brother to be trained in fighting but also knew that he and Nori couldn’t always be there to protect their youngest sibling. The culture of the dwarrow was such that everyone understood how to use a weapon because of how dangerous their lives had been since their creation, and it was due to that understanding as well as Imrathon sharing his own misgivings when his brother had been old enough to be trained to fight.

When the dwarf had heard the Dúnadan's edited story, he had sighed and nodded, thanking him for honoring him with the tale of his past as well as being compassionate enough to ensure that Ori had the means to defend himself on this difficult journey. Imrathon had acknowledged the gratitude and reminded him that he would help where he could as well.

Both brothers were rather pleased with the decision, and Eruestan had the unfortunate duty of finding Ori a weapon while his brother spoke to the scribe about the necessity of learning how to fight. Truthfully, he wasn’t sure which of them had the most difficult task since there was a great deal of treasure and refuse littering the ground. The smell made things even more difficult and annoying, and he was grateful he’d been exposed to worse smells over the years or he’d be throwing up right about now.

The Dúnadan could hear Thorin and Gandalf discuss the swords near the back of the cave while he kept his eyes on the ground. Moments later, he found the sheathed blade and picked it up, smiling when he recognized the markings on the metal. This was the sword he’d been looking for.

“A bit small for you, isn’t it,” Dwalin asked, standing not too far from the ranger’s position.

“I think it’d be about the right size for Ori,” Eruestan answered as he examined the blade. “A slingshot is good for hunting but not much else. He needs something to defend himself if we run into more adversaries, which is very likely considering how far it is to Erebor from here.”

“It’s a good idea now that the lad’s brother agrees. It surprised me that Dori asked for training for his brother since it’s well known how protective they are of the laddie,” the dwarf commented.

“Imrathon spoke to him about it,” the taller warrior told him. “He somewhat understands Dori’s worries about letting Ori train since Imrathon went through the same thing when I started learning how to fight.”

“I’ll let Thorin know that the change of heart is genuine,” Dwalin said. “He’s been worrying about the same thing when Kili pointed out the slingshot the other day. There wasn’t a reason to bring it up until we reached a place where we could arm the lad properly.”

“I’m glad we weren’t the only ones to notice,” Eruestan told him. “I should get this out to them and help convince Ori that learning to use this is necessary.”

“If he looks like he wants to say no, have him talk to Thorin,” the bald dwarf told the ranger. “He’ll get him to change his mind.”

Eruestan nodded, heading out to find his brother. He was still talking to Ori, who had a stubborn look on his face, and the younger Dúnadan had a feeling that the discussion was not going well at all.

“I found something that will work,” he said, handing the sword to Ori.

“What’s this?”

“A weapon for you to use to protect yourself and your brothers with,” he said, catching his attention. “You see, protection goes both ways. Once you’re trained up, you can help protect Nori and Dori, watch their backs for them.”

“I didn’t think of it that way,” the scribe admitted, looking at the sword with more respect now.

“Sometimes, big brothers forget that the younger ones can help with protecting too. It’s up to us to remind them that we’re just as capable as they are,” Eruestan said, making Imrathon laugh.

“You think I can do it?”

“Both of us believe it,” the elder told Ori. “You’re smart and determined. I have a feeling you’ll be a quick learner.”

The dwarf was quiet for a moment, then put the sword onto his belt and looked up at the two men. 

“I’ll take the lessons from Mister Dwalin,” he said. “Thank you both for pushing me on this. I guess I got to believing that I couldn’t help my brothers because I’m not as strong as they are.”

“You have strength, Ori. It’s just a matter of finding it,” Imrathon told him, making him smile and nod.

Before Ori or Eruestan could respond, there was the disturbance that signaled the arrival of Radagast the Brown. The two Dúnedain exchanged looks, knowing things were about to get a bit more hectic. Both of them remembered what the Istar carried and shuddered, knowing what this meant and how much was at stake.

“I don’t understand how a certain wizard could disregard the report when that thing hits the table,” Imrathon said to his brother in English.

“He’s already corrupted,” Eruestan replied. “We will need to figure out what to do with him before he decides to march on the Shire.”

“Set the council on him maybe,” the elder said. “I’m not sure yet; I’ll plan for it once we have the mountain back under the control of the dwarves.”

“It’s not something to let sit for long though,” he reminded his brother, who nodded grimly.

“I know; trust me, I haven’t forgotten him,” Imrathon said. “The hard part is keeping our thoughts to ourselves around a certain elf lady if she gets there early.”

All of them were diverted from their thoughts and conversations when a rough howl filled the air and all of the conversations going on in the small clearing stopped.

“Was that a wolf? Are there wolves here,” Bilbo asked, drawing his bow and an arrow.

“No, that’s not a wolf,” Bofur answered nervously.

Something made the hobbit turn and seconds later, two arrows caused the warg to hit the ground lifelessly. Bilbo and Kili had sent their arrows flying less than a second apart.

Thorin, Dwalin, and Bifur had dispatched the last warg, and the king-in-exile looked very unhappy when he turned to face his company.

“Warg scout, which means an orc pack is not far behind,” he announced.

“Who did you tell,” Gandalf asked, staring at Thorin.

“Oh for Durin’s sake, does it matter,” Fili asked. “We’ve no idea how far behind the pack is from these scouts. We need to leave now!”

The ponies were soon saddled, and the company set off while Radagast went ahead to draw the pack away from their trail. The two brothers stayed close to the group, knowing that the pack would eventually be drawn away from the wizard and focus their attentions once more on the dwarrow they had been tracking.

It became a mad dash when the wargs began howling, signaling that the company’s scent had been picked up. The ponies and horses ran hard, trying to put distance between them and the ones hunting them. Shouts of encouragement and warnings could be heard between the group as they followed Gandalf.

Both Dúnedain recognized where they were, and they shared a look since they knew Thorin wouldn’t be too pleased despite knowing they had to get the map read by someone who knew what to look for. The two brothers weren’t happy either because this upcoming meeting wouldn’t be one that would be enjoyable for anyone. They just hoped that tempers wouldn’t flair up.

Their thoughts were disrupted by a familiar sounding horn, and Imrathon called out to the ones ahead of them.

“Keep going,” he shouted when it looked like Thorin was going to start reigning his mount back in. 

The elvish hunting party overtook them, going straight to attack the orcs and wargs following the company. Shrieks of pain were heard as arrows sliced through the foul creatures, and the company just kept moving for a while before slowing down to allow their mounts a chance to catch their breaths and cool off.

“You know where we are,” Thorin asked Eruestan, who nodded. 

“Not far from Rivendell,” he answered. “The hunting party behind us looked to have Lord Elrond in their ranks so chances are good they were riding out to greet us when he realized we were being pursued.”

The king-in-exile sighed, grinding his teeth for a moment before nodding. He knew that this had to happen, but he wasn’t pleased about it at all. The dwarf lord calmed himself, keeping an eye on his company, and he managed to keep a cool demeanor when the elvish hunting party caught up with them.

“Mithrandir, I had not expected to find orcs on our borders,” the elf lord greeted, nodding to Eruestan and Imrathon, who returned the nod.

“We had not exactly expected to be hunted,” Gandalf replied. “It was not something we wanted either considering the long night my companions had.”

“Long night,” Elrond questioned as the combined group began heading towards the elvish home.

The Istar shared what had happened the night before, telling the story in animated tones that kept the listeners enthralled. Even the company, who had lived through the events, were captivated by the wizard’s tale. 

The elf lord looked concerned, frowning as he realized just how far these monsters were from their natural habitats. This was rather alarming and something he would have to think on.

“I would be honored to examine the blades you recovered to see if they have been named,” he offered, not revealing how much the story had bothered him.

“We would like that very much,” Gandalf said, hand patting the hilt of the sword belted at his waist. “They are very old, and it was surprising to find them in the hoard.”

“I find it to be the same,” Elrond agreed, blinking a bit when he spotted the hobbit discussing something quietly with the dwarf lord.

“Lord Elrond,” Thorin began after finishing the quick discussion with Bilbo. “Master Baggins here came into possession of a map that belongs to my people, and he returned it to me when he realized what it was that he had. It’s one of the few relics we have of our old home, and I am curious if there is anything that our scholars missed.”

“My mother often mentioned you had great knowledge of the dwarrow culture,” Bilbo said, pulling Elrond’s attention back to him. “So I suggested that Master Thorin bring it to you in order to see if there’s anything that might be important to the future generations. There’s a lot of empty room for a map, and I find that quite odd.”

“I would be honored,” the elf answered. “Your mother, Master Baggins?”

“Belladonna Took,” the hobbit replied. 

“Oh truly? She had written of having a child and the joys she was experiencing raising a half-Took who seemed more Took than Baggins,” Elrond chuckled. “I was away when she passed and was unable to attend her funeral. My family and I were sorrowed to hear of her passing and could not return in time.”

“I understand; she wouldn’t have wanted you to put yourself at risk for that,” he shared. “I’m just glad I am finally able to meet her friends here.”

“As we are to have you,” Elrond said. “All of you are welcome to rest in my home until you are ready to continue on with whatever journey you are on.”

“You have my thanks,” Thorin answered.

Imrathon looked at his brother, who grinned at him. That went better than expected!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author’s End Note - I hope everyone enjoyed this chapter. I’m not 100% happy with it, but it got them to Rivendell. Bilbo and Thorin took me by surprise by that sneaky little plot, but I’m not going to argue with them lol. By the way, I am now on tumblr under ladylaran so if you have an account there, give me a follow. I will post update announcements and pictures that apply to my stories. Thank you for reading, and please let me know what you thought of the chapter. See everyone next week! ~Laran


	10. A Little Lesson

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author’s Note - Well, I’ve done it again. I signed up for Hobbit Big Bang and guess what story is the one I chose to use for it? If you guessed “Hunting Erebor,” you guessed right! I’ve been binge writing when my health allows, and I feel bad for my poor beta. I’ve been keeping her busy. Hope you enjoy this installment!
> 
> Disclaimer – I do not own “Supernatural” or “the Hobbit.” I do not make money from this story.

The group had just dismounted when a small voice called out, drawing their attention.

“Imrathon!”

Imrathon grinned, holding his arms open as a tiny figure rushed towards him. He scooped him up, lifting and hugging him at the same time. His smile grew even wider as he felt his cousin’s arms wrap around his neck.

“There you are,” he said, holding him close and kissing the top of his head. “I had hoped we’d get to see you before we set out again. Have you been good for Elrond?”

“I have,” Estel answered, holding tightly to his cousin. “I even finished the book Eruestan said I should read.”

“I’m glad to hear it,” the taller Dúnadan said, smiling brightly as well. “Where’s my hug?”

Estel turned and reached his arms out to his other cousin, and Eruestan took him from his brother and gave him a hug as well.

“I think you’ve grown since the last time I saw you,” he told the boy in his arms. “What do you think, Imrathon?”

“He has,” the elder said with a fond smile.

“Who is this,” Fili asked, smiling as he eyed the lad clinging to Eruestan.

“This is our cousin, Estel,” Imrathon answered as they followed Elrond into the main building. “Lord Elrond is fostering him.”

The little boy looked at the people with his cousins and smiled, eyes lighting up.

“Dwarves and a hobbit! Are you Master Baggins?”

“I am indeed,” the hobbit smiled. “Bilbo Baggins at your service, Master Estel. Your cousins are dear friends of mine.”

“They’ve mentioned you before,” the child said, still clinging to Eruestan. “They really like you; I can tell when they talk about you or the Shire. Can you tell me about hobbits, Master Baggins?”

“How do we ask for things, Estel,” Imrathon said in a mild tone.

“Oh, I’m sorry! Master Baggins, if you have time, would you please tell me about hobbits? I’m ever so curious about them.”

“I would be delighted to,” Bilbo said with a bright smile. 

The two Dúnedain headed a different direction from where the company was being led, and Thorin called out when he realized that the pair were not staying with them.

“Where are you going?”

“Lord Elrond gifted us rooms to use whenever we come through Imladris,” Imrathon answered. “We need to bathe and put on clean clothing before dinner so we will meet you in the dining hall.”

The dwarf king nodded, going with his company to the area where they were to take their rest. The two brothers watched them go, and Eruestan made a comment in Sindarin.

“He has a stick up his arse,” he said, making Estel giggle.

“Language, little brother, we have little ears listening in. You’re right though; the dwarf king needs to relax some or he’s going to snap into pieces due to all the stress.”

“Why is he stressed,” the little boy asked.

“He’s a king who lost his home a long time ago,” the elder brother told their cousin. “He has a lot to worry about since he’s the one in charge of taking care of his people. It’s not an easy task, but he’s done well considering the odds he’s had to face.”

“Being a king is difficult?”

“It isn’t easy, that’s for certain,” he answered. “Look at Lord Elrond; there’s a lot on his shoulders and his people have a forever home that’s safe.”

“The king’s people aren’t safe,” the child questioned, picking up on that particular concern rather quickly.

“I’m afraid not,” Eruestan replied. “Ered Luin was damaged long ago, and it’s not exactly the safest location for King Thorin’s people. There’s no good land for farming, even if they were good farmers, and the mines are all but empty and not safe to work in.”

“That’s not good,” he said as he was set on his feet.

“No, it’s not,” Imrathon told him. “So we’re going to help them so their people can be safe and happy. Now, Eruestan and I need a bath since it’s been a long time we’ve been able to enjoy hot water. We’ll talk more later, all right?”

“Will you please tuck me in tonight,” Estel asked, watching his cousins as they nodded and smiled at him.

The child scampered off, leaving the two brothers to go into their rooms with the intention of bathing and changing into clean clothing. Both were eager to get clean and comfortable.

A while later, the company met in the dining hall. Eruestan had to bite back a laugh at the sight of the dwarrow in elvish clothing; the weapons they wore looked so out of place. The only one who looked relaxed was Bilbo, and he was sipping slowly at a glass of wine as he waited for everyone to join them.

“Don’t you look all nice and relaxed,” Imrathon said teasingly, taking a seat beside Fili.

“Not exactly comfortable in the elvish finery,” the blond admitted as Eruestan took a seat by Kili. “They took our clothing to wash, which is nice, but this type of clothing isn’t something we’re used to.”

“We’re used to it,” Eruestan replied, reaching for a glass of wine. “We’ve spent enough time here where it’s comfortable changing out of our gear. It gives the blacksmiths time to look over our gear to make sure everything is in order.”

“Do you think the smiths would mind if we used their forges if our equipment needs repairing,” Thorin asked, perking a bit when he heard about the blacksmiths.

“I don’t see why not,” Imrathon answered. “I can show you where to go tomorrow if you find you need to use the forge.”

The king-in-exile bowed his head once in thanks, and Bilbo sipped more of his wine.

“Your cousin is rather adorable,” he told them. 

“And he knows it,” the elder brother said with a laugh. “Eruestan and I have given in to him too many times when he tilts his head just the right way and says please. He’s too cute for his own good; I pity the woman he ends up marrying because she’ll have her hands full with him.”

“Never bring him to the Shire,” the hobbit warned. “The fauntlings will teach him how to use his adorableness and then he’ll really have control over everything.”

“Why do you say that,” Bofur asked.

“Did you lot not pay attention to the fauntlings while you were passing through?”

All of them nodded, looking a bit sheepish as Bilbo shook his head, muttering under his brother in his native language for a moment before switching to Westron.

“Small fauntlings, until they become tweenagers, are the most adorable sight you will ever see,” the small male stated. “I have seen rangers who are older, hardened, and able to withstand just about anything soften and give in to a fauntling’s request. All big eyes, sweet faces, and curls end up making up an absolutely disgusting level of cuteness.”

“You act as if you’re immune to it,” Thorin commented, biting back a laugh when he heard the hobbit’s snarky response.

“Of course I’m not! I’ve lost too many biscuits and pies to those adorably evil fauntlings, and I’m certain I’ll stand to lose more over the years,” he said, sipping wine again. “I doubt I’ll be able to develop a resistance.”

“He’s speaking the truth,” Eruestan said with a laugh. “Imrathon is weak for pie; it’s his favorite dessert, and I have seen him about to take a bite of a pie Bilbo has made and end up giving it to first fauntling to ask for a bite. Of course, he ends up helping the fauntlings raid the windowsills to replace the pie they ate.”

“In a week, Imrathon and a pack of fauntlings absconded with six of my pies,” Bilbo said, making the dwarrow laugh harder. “Two lemon, three apple, and one peach – I never got a bite of any of them. One would go missing, and I’d bake another. I spent more time baking that week than I have in a month!”

“My brother really likes pie,” the younger Dúnadan stated, shoulders shaking with laughter. “Those pies of Bilbo’s weren’t the only ones to go missing. I think they raided the Sackville-Baggins’s windows a few times.”

“Got chased with a mop too,” Imrathon added, rubbing his head. “That woman has a powerful swing.”

“I did warn you,” the hobbit retorted. “Lobelia is not a nice person, and I have seen her chasing fauntlings with that mop of hers.”

“Which is why I let her catch me instead of them,” he said. “She looked like she’d hurt one of them if that mop connected.”

“As far as I know, she hasn’t hit them but it could be because they’re faster than her,” Bilbo said, frowning a bit. “Most matrons will shout or give chase for a short bit; it’s part of the fun.”

“You actually condone stealing,” Nori asked, eyes widened a bit at the idea.

“It stems back to our history,” the hobbit shared. “Hobbits originally came from the Vales of Anduin and had to leave due to a rising power that was growing in the Greenwood. During our Wandering Days, we had a difficult time feeding our people. We’re people of the land and had no chance to grow food we needed; so we had to forage for what we needed, and there were times where stealing had to be done to ensure the fauntlings were fed. We grew adept at it, hating every moment of it, but it kept our young fed and ensured our race’s survival.”

He took a deep sip of the wine, looking haunted for a moment as he continued his explanation.

“When the Shire was founded, it was decided that the fauntlings would be encouraged to practice this art in case we ever have to face another period of wandering. For pies and other baked goods cooling, it’s allowed until the tweenage years and then they move on to scrumping from certain farmers’ fields. The objective is to not get caught; if you’re caught, you’re given a good scolding and then sent back out to practice once more. The produce taken usually will go to families who don’t have as much so the farmers make sure to plant a bit extra for the tweens who will end up scrumping from their fields.”

The company was quiet, turning Bilbo’s words over in their minds. Most had thought that the hobbits had never faced hardships, but it seemed they were wrong. It made them wonder just what else they had been wrong over. Before they could speak to their burglar, he continued.

“The scrumping and windowsill theft really didn’t give us skills for the Fell Winter,” he said, the haunted expression becoming worse. “None of us were really ready for it; our harvest had been poor that year and no one had enough in their pantries to make it. Hunger is a lesson we forgot, and we have endeavored to never let it happen again.”

Bilbo got up, murmuring an excuse, and Imrathon stopped the group from following him. They knew he needed time alone; the loss of his family during that time still haunted their friend, and they respected the grief that still rose up to haunt him. 

“Give him time,” the older brother told the dwarrow. “Some memories are still sharp, and he’s carried the loss for a long while.”

Everyone was distracted from their worries when the food was served after their host arrived. Elrond examined the blades that had been found in the troll hoard, and no one noticed the king-in-exile’s disappearance once Orcrist was gifted to him. The dwarf began looking for the burglar, unsure of where to find him and hoping he wouldn’t be wandering for too long.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author’s End Note – I have fun tweaking a bit of Hobbit culture and history here; this kind of made sense to me in regards to fauntlings snitching things and the tweens scrumping in Farmer Maggot’s fields (aka Merry and Pippin in the LotR). There was some scolding, but there never seemed to be serious punishment for it. So here’s my idea why. I hope you enjoyed the chapter; please let me know what you thought of it. ~ Laran


	11. Coming to an Understanding

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author’s Note - I have to apologize for the length of time I took to get this story going again. Some of you may know that I lost my mother a year ago, and she was the motivation and inspiration for this particular series. I couldn’t stomach the idea of working on it until recently. I appreciate the sympathies from those who reached out. It’s been a slow process, and I’m nowhere near healed enough from losing her. Between that, health issues, and finances, it’s like I just can’t get my spirits up to where they should be.
> 
> Disclaimer – I do not own “the Hobbit” or “Supernatural.” I don’t make money from this story either.

The dwarf lord wandered Rivendell for over half an hour before he came across Bilbo in one of the gardens. The hobbit’s head was bowed, and the moonlight turned the tawny hair nearly silver in its gentle light.

“Master Baggins?”

Startled, Bilbo looked up and Thorin could see the stress and grief etched onto the hobbit’s face. The Dúnadan had been right; the memories that haunted the burglar had not yet faded. It was something he could understand; certain losses still lingered with him to this day, decades after the losses had occurred.

“Am I needed somewhere,” he asked, visibly trying to pull himself together.

“No, Master Baggins,” the dwarf replied softly, sitting on the bench beside him. “I came because I understand and felt you needed someone with you.”

“You understand,” he asked bitterly, then shook his head. “Of course you do; you’ve lost more than I have over the years.”

“The pain of a loss is the same,” Thorin said softly. “No one’s pain is greater than another; you have faced hardship and come out stronger for it.”

“I don’t feel it,” Bilbo shared, rubbing a hand over his face. “I was twenty-one when the harvest season arrived and after the tally, it was found to be insufficient due to an inclement spring and summer. We never got a chance to forage to supplement our supplies because winter came much too early.”

Thorin remembered the winter the hobbit was speaking of. It had hit Ered Luin hard, but they had managed to lay in as many supplies as possible to carry them through. Being dwarrow, they were used to not being able to have the ability to hunt or forage. He’d heard rumors of other places taking considerable losses due to the winter and what it brought.

“The thain, my grandfather, went out with his sons and inspected every smial they could get to. For those who had little, he sent them to live with other families for the winter so food, blankets, and fuel could be shared in hopes of making it through. All of us were told to cut back to two meals a day in order to help make the supplies last longer. Some who had enough hosted the Dúnedain, who had come to aid us because of the fears that the temperature would drop enough for the Brandywine River to freeze. It’s not a small river and is deep, and it’s a natural border for the Shire.

“A small troop was sent; Bag End hosted Imrathon and Eruestan,” Bilbo said, staring off into the distance as he shared one of his most painful memories. “We didn’t see them too often as they were out on patrol most of the time.”

He was quiet for a moment, and Thorin waited for him to continue. He knew that the other needed to speak of this and would not say anything until he knew Bilbo had finished his tale.

“The temperatures kept falling, and our worst fears came to pass. The Brandywine froze, which worried the adults considerably. They were right to worry because the howling came not two nights after the river froze. Wolves entered the Shire.

“These wolves were larger than normal; they were starving and had nothing to loose. Reports of doors being destroyed and families killed in their homes started being whispered about by the adults. Papa was worried for our safety and would often stay up during the night to ensure we had warning if the wolves tried to get through our door, but he found out that some of our neighbors were low on fuel and other supplies. He and I would go out during the day to bring what was needed to those who were running out or were completely out.”

The hobbit’s voice went tight, and he clenched his hands in his lap.

“It wasn’t even near sundown when we were attacked. We had just left the Cotton’s smial when the pack came running in, howling and snarling. There was no chance of going back to the Cotton’s because those damned wolves managed to put themselves between us and safety. Papa and I were both carrying weapons; they weren’t fancy – an ax and a sharp knife. Despite being a respectable hobbit, Papa had worked with Mama to rally everyone in case of wolf attacks but it seemed like those who were nearby had decided not to fight after agreeing with my parents that they would help if the wolves came close to our homes and the rangers were too far out to help.

“Papa insisted I stay behind him, make sure he wasn’t attacked from behind, and he took out so many wolves that day before a huge one managed to snap the ax he was using. His scream when the wolf attacked still haunts me. It took me too long to get the damned thing off of him, and it fought me so hard when I tried to keep it away from Papa. I never felt the injuries I took; I was so determined to kill it. I finally did, driving the knife into its skull. 

“I got lucky because Eruestan and Imrathon arrived just moments before what was left of that pack could attack me. They killed the others, and Eruestan hauled the bodies off to be burned while Imrathon carried Papa back to the smial. He, Eruestan, and Mama did everything they could to save Papa, but the wounds were too much. Papa died several days later, in serious pain, and I succumbed to fever not long afterwards because of my wounds.”

He swallowed when his throat became tight with emotion but managed to carry on.

“Mama was never right after we lost Papa; she managed to survive for a few years before she couldn’t fight the grief any longer. I sent messages out to those friends we had who might have been able to help. Eruestan and Imrathon were the only ones who responded, and they arrived a short time before she passed. Her illness was of a broken heart, which was beyond their ability to heal.”

Thorin stayed silent for some time and when he realized Bilbo had finally finished, he broke his silence.

“You have gone through a tremendous amount of difficulties, especially at such a young age,” he said to him. “I was in my twenties when Smaug came and in my fifties when my grandfather set his eyes on reclaiming Khazad-dûm. Dwarrow do not reach their majority until they are seventy-five.”

Bilbo looked over at him, eyes wide. Losses were hard to face, but it seemed to be more difficult to work through when you weren’t a grown up yet. Most of his fellow hobbits hadn’t understood, and he’d leaned on Eruestan and Imrathon after their friendship blossomed during the Fell Winter. They had understood and trained him so that he wouldn’t lose anymore loved ones to violence.

“Most do not understand how hard it is to face loss like this,” he murmured to the king-in-exile. “They tell me that since it happened when I was young, I should find it easier to get over because it’s been twenty years. Yet I find I cannot push the memories away. I hear a howl, and my mind reminds me of the day I lost Papa to wolves.”

“Loss is never easy, no matter how old a person is,” Thorin assured him. “I think it’s harder on the young because we’re not quite mature enough to understand and think it through as an adult would. By the time you reach adulthood, you’ve become used to the pain, anger, and bitterness. It’s easier to just continue with that instead of rationalizing it as others would.”

Bilbo nodded, grateful to have someone who understood. Outside of his two friends, who visited when they could, he’d not had anyone who had gone through what he had that wanted to help him. Something shifted in his heart; the pain didn’t ease but quieted somewhat.

“I was still underage after Mama went to Yavanna’s Fields,” he said softly. “There was a lot of arguing between the Tooks and Baggins about what should happen to me. The Tooks knew I had been handling the businesses Papa ran as well as ensuring Bag End was kept up so they argued I was mature enough to accept my inheritance. Since Grandfather outranked my Baggins relatives, I was allowed to continue running Papa’s businesses and remain in Bag End on my own. The Tooks came by when they could to check on me, but they live in another area of the Shire so traveling to Hobbiton wasn’t always an easy thing.”

“How old were you?”

“Twenty-eight, nearly twenty-nine,” he answered. “Hobbits come of age at thirty-three; Mama did her best to make it until my majority, but her heart just couldn’t keep going without him. I could tell she was in serious pain before the end.”

“So you lost the last member of your closest family and had to be involved with a battle to keep your home and inheritance. That had to be incredibly difficult,” the dwarf said softly.

“I didn’t have time or space to grieve, not properly, because the blasted relatives were fighting over who should keep an eye on me, who should move into Bag End until I came of age, and so on. No one really wanted to hear me out; Grandfather came closest to determining what I truly wanted but was so busy most of the time that he didn’t really sit down with me to listen to what I needed.”

“And once that was done, you just had to continue on and keep things going as smoothly as you could,” Thorin said.

Bilbo turned, catching the understanding in the deep blue eyes, and his breath caught in his throat. 

“I did it after Papa died and had to keep on after I lost Mama,” he replied softly. “People depended on the businesses and my being their landlord; I couldn’t stop doing what I was responsible for.”

“I was the same way,” Thorin told him. “After we lost Erebor, Grandfather was still too deep in gold sickness to make any decisions for our people and my father was mourning the death of my mother. I was leading our people for quite some time before Father came out of his grief and took over until Grandfather was somewhat clear headed enough to rule.”

“How long did that take,” the hobbit asked.

“Over a year,” the king-in-exile answered quietly. “I was learning as I went, battling it with the few nobles who stayed with us instead of going to my cousin’s lands. Nain couldn’t take all of us, and so I sent the elderly and those with young families who wanted to go for the safety of their little ones to the Iron Hills. The nobles decided they would rather stay in a safe kingdom rather than roam with the rest of us. They left quickly, and most of the families with small children decided to stay and help our people as we wandered. I walked the camp each night, hearing the little ones cry and hating myself for not being able to do more for them.”

“You did the best you could,” Bilbo answered. “The fact that they survived to make it to Ered Luin and make a home there is a testament to your strength and determination.”

“It’s kind of you to say so, but there were a lot of mistakes made. When Grandfather finally pulled himself somewhat out of his madness, I thought that we’d have a chance to really flourish but he set his sights on Khazad-dûm. Nothing anyone said would dissuade him, and so many lives were lost that day. I went home having to take on the regency until we knew what my father’s fate was. I was a little better prepared for the role but still too young.”

“You didn’t have time to grieve your losses then either, did you,” he asked softly.

“No,” Thorin answered. “I lost cousins, my grandfather, and my brother to that senseless battle, and I came home to my grieving people once more to try to heal them and ensure they had a home, supplies, and trade to keep them safe.”

“I’m sorry, Thorin,” Bilbo said in a very quiet voice. “No one should have to go through that, and I think you are strong for having to face what you did and keep doing the right thing, even if meant swallowing everything back in order to keep those who depend on you safe.”

“You did the same, Master Baggins,” he pointed out.

“Perhaps but not on the same scale you did,” he replied. “I don’t know if I would have had the determination to keep going as you have over the years.”

“You showed the same determination in taking care of your mother, the people who depended on you as their landlord, as well as the businesses you are responsible for. You proved to have the strength needed to take care of your responsibilities and not let the grief break you.”

“Thank you,” Bilbo said, voice tight with emotion. “I’ve never had anyone point that out to me. Eruestan and Imrathon just encouraged me, but the others in Hobbiton have had a nasty habit of pointing out my failures.”

“It’s a heavy burden,” Thorin told him. “One you have born well. As you face the shadows of the past, remember that. The ones you lost would be proud of you, Master Baggins.”

“Bilbo,” the hobbit informed him, making the dwarf blink.

“I beg your pardon?”

“Given what was shared tonight, formalities aren’t necessary,” Bilbo told him. “I think, in time, we could call each other friend and so I would have you call me Bilbo.”

“You honor me,” the king-in-exile said gravely.

“As you honored me tonight,” the other answered. “You and I are similar in that we keep our past and shadows hidden tightly; that you shared this in order to help me tonight is an honor I can never repay. Thank you, Thorin.”

“You are welcome, Bilbo. Come, we should find something to eat before we are called for by our host to examine the map,” Thorin said, rising to his feet.

Bilbo stood as well, walking beside the other. He didn’t know why Thorin had come to find him, but he was grateful that he had. The hobbit knew that the dwarf didn’t share his inner thoughts and pains with others often, and he was touched that the long haired male had done so with him. Knowing that he wasn’t alone in facing pain that was slow to heal helped a great deal, and he hoped this meant that he was making progress in befriending the dwarf.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author’s End Note - Of course the first chapter that comes out when I started writing this has to do with loss. It was a bit cathartic honestly, and I hope all of you enjoy it. Please let me know what you thought of the chapter, and thank you again for your kind patience. See you next chapter! ~ Laran

**Author's Note:**

> Author’s End Note – Okay, outside of Castiel, I was able to find Elvish equivalents to the names of the other three characters. Gabriel, which means Man of God, was changed to Eruadan. Castiel, I decided to honor his angelic status as well as his bond to the Vala he serves by choosing “fiery” as his “definition” so to speak. There’s no meaning for Castiel and fiery, interestingly enough, pays homage to an actor who plays a dwarf we all know and love. So, Aidan for our Castiel and that translates to Urúvion. Dean’s name means “valley” so I went with Imrathon, and Sam’s is “name of god” and so it is Eruestan. I love my elvish naming site! I created a sister for Gilraen so that our boys would have a tie into the family. Also, Valië is the singular form for Valier, which is the title for the Seven Queens of the Valar. I hope you enjoyed the chapter, and please let me know what you think. Also, check out my profile to find the link to my yahoo group so you can get update alerts! ~ Laran


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